


Acute

by Era_Penn



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Cancer, Canon-Typical Violence, Clint Feels, Hurt Tony, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Prompt Fill, Team Feels, Team as Family, Tony Feels, Valentine's Day, cancer au, clintony - Freeform, giant crabs, ironhawk husbands, more to be added - Freeform, prompt, symptoms, terminal illness, they adopted Peter Parker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-20 14:51:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6012403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Era_Penn/pseuds/Era_Penn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: I would ask you to write a story with Tony having a lethal illness ( cancer,...) and beating it with the help of everyone (Clint, Steve, Natasha, Thor, Buck, Pepper, Rhodey, Happy, Loki( maybe),...). He would already be in a relationship (married maybe...:) ) with Clint when he discovers he is ill and would have to announce it to Clint. Then to the others. Then this other type of battle would begin, with its moments of sadness and happiness ( Tony fading because of the illness and the meds, getting better, having heartfelt moment with the others with the inevitable "what if...", doings things because it could be the last chance to do it,...).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Valentine's Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CASSIOPE176](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CASSIOPE176/gifts).



Tony stretched and yawned. His entire spine popped and cracked, and Tony winced. Thirty-four years old, and his body was already protesting. Avenging was rough on the bones. Noting a previously unnoticed bruise on his upper arm, he groaned and bent back over the tiny electronic device on his workbench. “Jarvis, give me the specs now,” he mumbled.

“Slightly better than previously achieved, sir, but nowhere near the desired output,” Jarvis summarized, pulling up the specs for Tony to glance through. “And may I remind you—for the fourth time, I might add—that you have somewhere to be in an hour?”

Somewhere … to … an hour … 

“SHIT!” Tony yelped, setting his tools aside. “Don’t let the bots touch that - shut her down -”

“Of course, sir,” Jarvis said. 

Tony stood and stumbled. His foot tingled, pins and needles racing up and down. He yelped and staggered his way to the elevator, clambering inside with a slight groan. His head spun slightly; how long had he been down in the lab anyway? He took a deep breath and rubbed his greasy hands against his equally greasy tank top. “Time,” he said, when the elevator doors slid open.

“Fifty-eight minutes, sir.”

So that gave him approximately twenty minutes to shower… _better make it thirty_ , Tony thought, grimacing as he looked over the workshop grime covering his skin. After that, he had maybe five minutes to get dressed, ten to get his hair dry and somewhat behaved, and five to indulge in last-minute panic. Then he would be racing down to the garage, meeting his husband a fashionable five minutes late for dinner.

He was right on schedule stepping out of the elevator into the garage. The _empty_ garage. “...Jarvis? Where’s Clint?”

“As Master Clint requested, I set you up, sir. You have another hour before you are to meet Master Clint.”

Tony’s jaw dropped. “Traitor,” he hissed.

“As Master Clint has status in my systems equivalent to yours, sir, I believe you will find that statement incorrect.”

Tony huffed and climbed back in the elevator. He had an hour of free time—certainly not enough to head back to the workshop and still be ready on time, and he highly suspected Clint had recruited either Natasha or Steve to make absolutely sure Tony didn’t try. With a sigh, he exited the elevator onto the common floor and flopped back on the couch in the main room. “Jarvis,” he whined, “give me something to do!”

“Of course, sir,” Jarvis said, and gave him the specs on the most recent set of arrows Tony was designing for Clint. Tony rubbed absently at the bruise on his upper arm, surveying the project. “Right, let’s…”

Forty-five minutes later, Jarvis shut down the holograms, rather than trying to draw Tony back out of his focus. “Sir, you are to meet Master Barton in fifteen minutes,” Jarvis gently reminded him.

Tony grumbled, not really meaning it, and straightened. He scooped his suit jacket up from where he had placed it on the arm of the couch, tied his tie, and pulled his shoes back on. He ran a hand through his hair, hoping it hadn’t been messed up _too_ badly, and headed for the garage once again. 

Tony couldn’t stop the wide, sappy smile that slid over his face at the sight of his husband leaning against one of Tony’s nicest cars in wait. Clint was wearing a very nice suit, and he’d already gotten annoyed enough to take off the jacket and roll the sleeves up, showing off rather nice forearms. “Hello, husband,” Tony said, slipping an arm around Clint’s waist. 

Clint chuckled and threw an arm over Tony’s shoulders. “It’s been almost four years,” he reminded Tony. Thirty-six years old, and Clint Barton was starting to get laugh lines; Tony supposed it made sense. They spent a lot of time cracking jokes. 

“So?”

Clint laughed, and tugged him into the car. He leaned over the dashboard to give Tony a kiss before starting the car. “Happy Valentine’s Day, dear,” Clint said.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Clint,” Tony said.

Clint turned back, started the car, and practically moaned as the engine hummed to life. “Your cars,” he sighed, running his hands over the steering wheel.

“Our cars,” Tony reminded him. Sometimes Clint forgot that technically, he was as much a billionaire as Tony, now. “You brought the suitcase armor?”

“In the back,” Clint nodded. “And my bow?”

“Also in the back,” Tony said. All the important things covered, Clint pulled out of the garage. The windows fogged over almost immediately, though it wasn’t enough to block out cameras flashing, trying to catch a glimpse of the most well-known supercouple in the world. “Vultures,” Tony grumbled, glancing sideways at Clint to make sure he wasn’t upset. Even four years later, Tony still felt a bit bad about the constantly swarming paparazzi, even though they were after Clint just as often these days.

“Oh, yeah, apparently you have an unknown date tonight,” Clint said, “we’re on the outs.”

“Again? We just cleared up the last fiasco. How many arguments can one couple have?”

“At least Cap’s stopped calling to see if we’re doing okay,” Clint said.

Tony snorted. “I think he finally figured out that modern media is rarely accurate after about the fourth time we laughed in his face.”

Clint grinned, reaching over and lacing one hand with Tony’s. “To be fair, I can’t really blame them for worrying initially. We did pretend to hate each other for a good year before anyone realized we were screwing with them.”

Tony sniggered at the memory, tightening his grip on Clint’s hand. Clint’s eyes stayed on the road. New York traffic, ugh. “I think we even had Natasha convinced for a couple months.” Tony’s phone rang and he used his free hand to wrestle it from his pocket, smiling when he saw the caller ID.

“Peter! What’s up, buddy?”

“Hey, dad. Happy Valentine’s!”

“Yeah yeah, what’s up, kid?” Clint asked through the car.

“Can I drive the Mercedes tonight?” Peter asked. “I’m taking Gwen to dinner.”

Clint and Tony swapped a glance. “No,” they said, simultaneously. 

“...fine,” Peter grumbled.

“But you can take the Porsche Cayenne GTS,” Tony added.

“Traffic’s too nightmarish for the Mercedes,” Clint agreed, “I’d rather you took something a little bigger.”

“Aw yeah! Thanks dads!”

“Treat her good. I’m almost as scared of your girlfriend as I am of Pepper,” Tony said.

Tony ended the call and Clint sighed. “Aw, our baby, all grown up and driving instead of swinging from place to place… seems like only yesterday we picked him out of the lineup…”

Tony giggled. “Oh, you should definitely say that to his face.”

“He’d probably say something along the lines of, ‘well, it was only last year - and what do you mean lineup, no one matches up to my criminal genius.’ Snarky little brat.”

Tony was full-on laughing now, not quite able to catch his breath as he considered Clint’s imitation of their son. They’d found Peter through SHIELD; when his Aunt died, Peter had hit the streets, and Spider-Man had practically dropped off the map. SHIELD, already suspicious, decided that was all the confirmation they needed. Tony had hacked their systems and managed to pick the kid up before they could, something which really upset them, but they were too late to stop Tony and Clint. Peter Parker-Barton was thus summarily christened. Tony had tried for Stark, but Clint had refused point-blank. Barton was a more common name, at least, and they both wanted to make sure Tony’s typical villains got nowhere near their new son.

“It’s been a damn good year,” Tony said softly, thinking through everything that had happened. He was happily married to a loving husband, he had a teenage son who went out as a superhero on the weekends, and an extended family that included a super assassin, a green rage monster, a retired HYDRA agent/military sergeant, a bird, a couple of demigods, and a supersoldier. Not to mention Pepper, Happy, and Rhodey. Who would have thought, Tony with a family?

Clint’s fingers tightened around Tony’s. “Yeah, it has,” he replied.

Tony perked up as Clint finally pulled into a crowded parking garage. “You got reservations at Angie’s?”

Clint smiled at him. “Only place we’ll get any peace on Valentine’s,” he said, “what with her no-paparazzi policy and all.”

“Sure,” Tony said, “and you’re certain it’s not because you know their Italian is my favorite in the entirety of New York?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Clint grumbled.

Tony smiled and let it slide, releasing Clint’s hand to climb out of the car. Clint met him behind the car, sliding an arm around his waist and leaning in close to his ear. “So, Mr. Stark,” he said, “would you care for an escort to dinner?”

Tony laughed and slapped him lightly. “Goofball,” he said. “I should be asking you that, Mr. Barton.”

Clint beamed, and they walked hand in hand through the crowd of reporters waiting by the exit from the parking garage. Neither of them bothered to give any of the reporters so much as a smile; it had been in their vows. Through cameras and vultures, til death do us part. All that jazz. Tony was pretty sure they’d agreed at some point to be so ridiculously happy and in love that no one could ever imagine otherwise. Mostly it worked.

When they ducked in through the door to Angie’s, silence blessedly fell. The tiny diner maintained a no-paparazzi policy that was strictly enforced. As a result, they ended up with a rather richer clientele than they may otherwise have served. The food was excellent, but most of Tony’s rich peers would have turned their noses up at the tiny place if it weren’t for the promise of privacy.

Tony noticed Clint’s shoulders visibly relax once they were through the door, and shuffled a little awkwardly. “Sorry,” he said. 

“Don’t be, it’s not really your fault,” Clint said. 

Tony sighed. It kind of was his fault; had Clint married a normal person, he probably could have avoided having his face literally everywhere. Hawkeye and Widow successfully kept out of the public eye until Clint got romantically involved with Tony, at which point he had stepped unhappily into the spotlight. 

Tony had to admit he seriously appreciated the rumors that claimed Clint and Tony shared Natasha in the background, if only because the reporters who attempted to spread such stories randomly vanished from all respectable spheres of journalism. He wasn’t sure exactly who was responsible for the disappearances, but he was betting on either Natasha herself or Coulson, who was oddly protective of Clint and Tony’s marriage. 

“Right this way!” a young woman chirped, leading Clint and Tony to a very private booth in the back of the diner. Tony had claimed it sometime in his teens, and Angie had saved it for him. She was retired now, but her son Stefan maintained the permanent reservation. 

Clint and Tony slid into the small table facing each other, knees bumping under the table and automatically leaning forward to ensure they heard anything the other had to say. Of course, Clint took the seat with the best vantage point, eyes skipping over entrances and exits and counting waitstaff and customers. Tony waited patiently, watching for any sign he needed to worry. When Clint relaxed, Tony did as well. It wouldn’t be the first time a supervillain tried to crash date night. One of the biggest disadvantages of being one of the more visible Avengers.

“So,” Clint said, “we were interrupted, but I am insanely curious about that story you started to tell.”

“I have no idea to what you are referring,” Tony said.

“Three engineering majors, a dead fish, and a tazer.”

“Ah, that one,” Tony said, starting to laugh just thinking about it. “Okay, so it goes like this…”

They order pasta, all you can eat breadsticks, and water. Tony hadn’t had a drop in over a year, and Clint hadn’t either. Not an easy feat, as superheroes. Tony got shrimp in his, while Clint favored chicken. They grinned around the flickering candles and interruptions from the waitress, and got salads and creme brulee just to drag out the evening a little longer. The dessert, tasting of crystallized sugar, ash, and cream… it was them in a nutshell, really. So sweet it burned.

Finally, they ordered coffee. The rest of the diner was practically empty, now, excluding a few teenagers who had likely snuck out past curfew, but weren’t quite brave enough to leave familiar territory. 

“We should do this more,” Clint murmured.

“Yeah, we should,” Tony said. They didn’t often get the chance to go out like this anymore. Between Clint’s full-time agent status and Tony’s three full-time jobs (Avenger, SI Head of R&D, and SHIELD Consultant), neither spent as much time together as they would like. Then they had added parenthood to the mix; it took less time with a teenager than it would with, say, a two-year-old, but they still attended school events and tried to be accessible in case Peter needed them.

They’d made a few less-than-pleasant two AM pickups from random alleys, as well. The only way to stop Peter from going out as Spider-Man would be to lock him in his room, and Tony and Clint would never go that far. Instead they required training with a different Avenger every day of the week and a panic button.

They were sitting quietly at this point, sipping coffee that warmed them from the inside out. Tony sighed and leaned on Clint a bit; they’d moved to sit next to each other as the night went on.

“Whatcha thinking about?”

“A little of this, a little of that,” Tony said, “can’t quite keep up with it all.”

Clint hummed. “Genius.”

Tony smiled. “Takes one to know one,” he said, making Clint splutter a little. 

“Uh, thanks,” Clint said. 

“Ready to head home?” Tony asked.

“Sure,” Clint replied, “do you think Peter’s back yet?”

“It’s what, eleven? He’ll be back by midnight to check in or we’ll go find him and drag him back,” Tony said. 

Clint nodded, following Tony out of the booth and to the front desk. They paid and left, hand in hand. Most of the paparazzi had long since left, assuming that the two had long since slipped out the back. A quick flash made them tense and revisit that assumption.

“Oh, sorry!” a young woman’s voice said, and they found themselves presented with a picture. “It’s a tradition of mine—I spend the night finding people who look like they’re in love and taking pictures to give them. Sometimes people need that to hold onto.”

Tony regarded the young brunette with her soft brown eyes. “Ah, it’s fine,” he said, “Just caught us by surprise.”

“Wow,” Clint breathed, focused on the picture. Tony looked at it. It was in beautiful shades of gray and gold, the shadows of the night and the light from the buildings contrasting to create one of the softest visuals Tony had ever seen. In the center of the image Stood Tony and Clint. Tony was wildly gesturing about something, and Clint had an arm wrapped around his waist. Clint looked down at Tony with the most open expression Tony had ever seen on the archer, and the brilliant light caught in Tony’s eyes was pointed up at Clint.

“This is amazing,” Tony agreed, turning back. 

The girl smiled at them. “Happy Valentine’s,” she said, and kept walking, heading towards the nearby residential district. She was probably on her way home when she caught them leaving the building. 

“This one’s a keeper,” Clint said, carefully holding onto the snapshot as they headed back to the car. 

Tony hummed in agreement, leaning back into Clint as they walked the short distance to the parking garage. They slid into the car, both shivering as the heater kicked in and started warming the car. Tony rested a hand over Clint’s, and the car purred. Peter arrived home at around the same time as they did, nodding in greeting as he yawned and headed to his room; he would probably stay out another couple hours, but not with Gwen, they knew. 

Tony slipped into bed with Clint, and they curled up together, soothing away nightmares and sleeping away the rest of the night.

* * *

“You two were out late,” Natasha said when they went up to the kitchen in the morning.

Tony shrugged, yawning widely and scrabbling blindly for coffee. Clint slid a mug into his hand as Steve sniggered at them from across the counter. 

“That’s adorable,” Sam observed, “like, seriously. Are they always like this?”

“There’s an extra bird at my bar,” Tony said. 

Clint rolled his eyes. “Morning, jerks,” he said, downing his own mug of coffee.

Bruce stumbled in as Tony was finally waking up, turning grateful eyes on Natasha as she handed over his tea. He wasn’t quite up to speaking yet, apparently. Peter wasn’t far behind, heading for the coffee as quickly as his adoptive dads had done. Thor and Jane joined them, Jane looking a bit dazed and Thor even more boisterous than usual. Darcy trailed them, of course. Bucky—no, he preferred James—was out, some super-secret SHIELD mission, with Phil as his handler. Pepper and Happy were probably already back to running Stark Industries for him. Rhodey was overseas.

Content with his headcount, Tony settled onto the counter.

Life didn’t get much better, he thought. Maybe if that pesky bruise on his arm would heal. He swore it should have been gone by now. Yawning behind his hand, Tony let the murmur of the others’ conversation wash over him.

Of course, that was when the alarm went off.


	2. Giant Crabs

The Avengers were awake, alert, and ready to go in an instant. They ran for the locker rooms, Tony changing into his flight suit and rocketing from the tower as the others also changed and headed for the jet. 

“Where am I headed?” Tony asked.

“The harbor,” Coulson’s calm voice came through the comms.

“You got it,” Tony said, taking a sharp left. “What’s waiting for me?”

A long pause. Tony groaned. Long pauses weren’t his favorite Coulson expressions of bitter resignation.

“Mutated crabs with very, very large claws.”

Tony heard Clint groan. “I knew I should have stayed away from the shellfish last night!”

“I told you,” Tony said.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Tony arrived at the harbor and whistled, looking over the scene below. The churning ocean water was practically black, meaning there were a lot more crabs down below. The piers and ships were swarming with crab mutants. Six feet across and two feet high, the crabs were monstrous; they had turned an odd neon orange-pinkish color and their beady eyes never stilled. Their massive, snapping claws cut straight through steel on some ships and absolutely splintered the wood on the docks and piers. Tony could hear them clacking from his perch in the sky.

He whistled. “Damn. Those aren’t mutated crabs, those are monsters from hell.”

“That bad?” Steve asked.

“Worse. They’ve been souped up, too - gigantic or not, I doubt crabs would normally be able to break steel with their claws. Like it’s butter, even!”

“Don’t go anywhere near those things until we arrive.”

“Yeah, I’m just going to stay right here in the sky,” Tony said. “Unless they start moving into the city, because I doubt any New Yorkers are going to be happy finding _that_ in the sink.”

A short silence.

“...Did you just willingly agree to wait for backup?”

“No one’s in immediate danger, except maybe me, so yeah. These things are probably capable of chopping me in half. On that note, Coulson, any sort of weapon we can deploy at their underbellies - bombs, stingers, whatever - we’re going to need it. Lots of it.”

“I’ll get it there.”

“Their underbellies?” Clint asked.

“Yeah, no way are we getting through that shell,” Tony murmured, watching the crabs wreaking havoc on the ships. He could see at least fifty of them, and there were at least that many more in the water, approaching the shoreline. He watched the movement of the water. It seemed wrong, somehow. “Uh… guys? I don’t think it’s just crabs. Pretty sure there’s something else down there too.”

“What?” Bruce asked.

“Not sure, but some of those waves look suspiciously like tentacles.”

“I hate things with tentacles,” Natasha said.

“Don’t we all,” Clint muttered.

“We’re going to deal with this like we dealt with the sentient tanks,” Steve said.

“I hated those,” Natasha said, “and it is really saying something that I think I’m going to hate these more.”

“...and there goes half the dock,” Tony said, staring as the massive metal structure buckled and sank. “You guys have about two minutes until these things start heading into the city.”

“Good thing we have an ETA of one, then,” Clint said.

Tony nodded, taking aim at a crab that was getting a bit too adventurous. He fired and knocked it back into the waves, though he sincerely doubted he’d managed to do any damage at all.

A tentacle promptly launched from the water, and Tony hit the jets, rocketing out of reach. “Our tentacle friend likes our crab buddies,” he informed the team conversationally. “Coulson, if you can get agents set up with tripwires, it’ll give us better chances at reaching the underbellies. But they’d better be damn good, because one solid snap of claws and they’re dead.”

“The A Squad is on their way,” Coulson said. “They’re good at dealing with your messes, and they’re all insane, so it should work out from there.”

“Jesus,” Clint said, and Jarvis’ brought the armor alongside the Quinjet. 

“This is going to be awful,” Tony agreed.

He wasn’t wrong. Taking out the crabs was a job and a half; it was slow, since the only way to down them was to get at their sensitive underbellies or cook them in their shells. Things sped up once the A Squad arrived; using tripwires, they could flip a whole group of the crabs for Tony to fly by and fry. Thor would have helped, but he had long since learned to avoid mixing electricity and wet beaches. Tony and Clint, who stayed in the jet, were the major air support this time; Clint kept an eye out for wayward tentacles and called positions, putting the repulsor weapons on the jet to good use backing up the other Avengers and holding off crabs when they got too dense or agents needed relieving in certain areas. 

Peter showed up after a couple of hours, Tony and Clint grudgingly giving him permission to work with the A Squad setting tripwires, and it helped speed up the work as well. Peter also discovered that despite their immense closing power, the crabs couldn’t open their claws again if he wrapped them in web quick enough. Tony winced every time a snap came a bit too close to ending Peter’s dangerous game of chicken, but he knew it would be useless to try to get the kid to quit.

Tony estimated they had managed to take out about half the crabs when their tentacley friend revealed itself. 

“Okay. That. That’s a kraken,” Tony said.

“Uh-huh,” Clint agreed, and Tony could practically hear him gaping.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Thor boomed, “A proper kraken is much too large to come so close to shore!”

Tony and Clint groaned.

“Chatter!” Steve barked. “Tony, can you do anything about some of these tentacles? Clint, stay out of their reach, you’re not maneuverable enough in that jet.”

“Roger, Rogers!” Clint said cheerfully, and Tony was certain his husband saluted sarcastically.

Tony checked his team and turned his attention back to the baby kraken. Aiming, he fired off a repulsor at a tentacle. He was surprised to watch as the entire thing caught fire and burned away. This creature was not meant to be out of the water, obviously. The burning arm slammed down into the water, and Tony winced. Salt water on burns… not fun. Everyone on the beach also got doused, but they probably appreciated it, after this long blowing up crabs.

Then suddenly Tony was flying in a totally different direction than he expected and struggling to catch his breath. 

“Iron Man, check in!” Steve commanded.

Tony struggled for a moment, and finally choked out, “Just got the wind knocked outta me,” as Jarvis stabilized him in the air and took him higher. Eyeing the wiggling tentacles, he groaned. This had been going on too long already; he was exhausted, and he didn’t want to think about how his teammates on the ground were feeling. “Jarvis, can you locate a central mass on this thing?”

“I shall endeavor to do so,” Jarvis said, “if you would refrain from getting knocked out of the air?”

“Haha,” Tony said, and started taking aim at the longest tentacles first, careful to keep an eye on his blind spots this time. A dozen long, squiggly arms later, Jarvis spoke up.

“Sir, I believe I have located the central body. I’ve highlighted it on the HUD for you.”

“Why thank you, Jarvis,” Tony said, and returned to the open Avengers line. “I think I’ve got a central mass on this thing. Watch my back, Hawkeye.”

“You got it, Iron Man.”

Tony circled in the air, looking for a break between tentacles. Jarvis highlighted a path, and he dove. The moment he had a clear shot, he took it.

He wasn’t expecting the central body mass to basically explode as the rest of the tentacles caught fire, falling and flopping all over the beach.

“Shit, shit, shit -” he dodged tentacles and debris, less worried than Clint would probably like about the flames. Burns would heal eventually, but at least they wouldn’t keep him on bedrest as long as they weren’t in his throat or lungs.

“Iron Man, check in,” Steve demanded as soon as the massive creature stopped flailing. 

“I’m good. Everyone on the beach get clear?”

“Yeah.”

“Clint?”

“I was far enough away to dodge.”

“Awesome. Can we go home now?”

“Avengers,” Steve said, “We’re going home. We’ll debrief tomorrow; it’s been a long day. If anyone needs medical, speak now.”

Silence.

“Tony,” Clint said.

“I might need my ribs wrapped,” Tony conceded, “but nothing we’ll have to go to medical for.”

“I can handle that,” Clint agreed. “Race you back!”

Tony grinned and hit the gas. Metaphorically. As if the Iron Man would ever run on anything as energy deficient as gas.

* * *

Tony got to the showers first, but only because Clint had to land the jet and start it refueling. It wouldn’t be the first time they got back late and left early. He moved to start stripping, and winced as he lifted his arms to get out of his flightsuit. Oow. 

“Need some help getting around those cracked ribs?” Clint asked behind him.

“Yes,” Tony admitted.

Clint laughed and came up behind him, slipping thumbs under the edges of the skintight suit and sliding it downwards. He rubbed a circle against Tony’s shoulder with a thumb when Tony flinched, chin resting there for a moment as he pressed a kiss to Tony’s neck. “You’re going to be so sore tomorrow,” Clint observed.

“Probably. Not bad enough to stay in bed, though.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “Oh, I know.”

Tony stepped out of the bottom half of the suit, sighing in relief.

“You look even better without the leather.”

“Excuse you, that is a high-density polymer designed to -”

“Minimize impact and spread pressure, yeah, yeah, I know,” Clint said. Tony heard Clint shuffling and stripping out of his own clothes as Tony stepped into the shower, Jarvis automatically setting it to the perfect temperature. Well, almost the perfect temperature; he and Clint compromised when they showered together, and Tony was going to need a spare hand to help him wash his hair.

“ _Jesus_ , Tony. How hard did that squid hit you?!”

Tony sighed. “That bad, huh? I’m a little surprised, it didn’t hurt that much. Adrenaline is awesome.”

Clint stepped under the spray, careful fingers nudging at Tony’s ribs. Tony flinched, but allowed it. 

“No breaks,” Clint said, relieved. 

“Oh, good. Help me wash my hair?”

Clint gently massaged soap into Tony scalp as Tony rubbed both of their torsos with soap. Tony sighed into it. He let his fingers rest a little longer than necessary over Clint’s pulse points, worried even though Clint had been out of the direct line of fire for most of this fight. Clint’s thumb rested against the pulse in Tony’s neck a few times as well.

Eventually, clean and exhausted, they climbed out of the shower, wrapped in fluffy, gigantic towels designed to be big enough for the superhumans on the team. Peter passed them on the way back to shower himself, and they paused a moment. 

“You look like hell, kid. And you kinda smell like crab,” Tony said, smirking.

“Gee, wonder why.”

“Get some sleep,” Clint said, removing fingers from the pulse point on Peter’s neck. Peter nodded and kept heading for the shower.

Clint wrapped an arm around Tony’s waist and kept him moving for the elevator, passing other members of the team on the way. Tony yawned widely. Together, the two men stumbled their way to bed.

* * *

Tony woke up and promptly wished he hadn’t. He groaned.

The warm weight at his back laughed and rolled to lightly rest an arm over Tony’s waist. “Still feel like getting out of bed?”

“Noooo, don’t make meeeeee.”

“I’ll go grab breakfast.”

Tony sighed in reply, refusing to move. Clint chuckled again and slid out of the other side of the bed. The side closest to the door - overprotective assassins were weird.

Tony drifted off again, dozing under warm blankets and in the dim light of the sun filtering through the slightly opaque windows.

“Asleep again already?”

“Not if that’s coffee I smell.”

“And blueberry pancakes.”

“How’d you manage that?”

“Steve was already in the kitchen.”

Tony beamed, dragging himself up to lean against the headboard. “Awesome! Now get back in this bed and cuddle with me.”

Clint grinned. “With pleasure.” He set up a tray of food and slid into the other side of the bed, handing Tony his coffee and cradling another mug himself. Tony leaned on his shoulder and ate his breakfast. As soon as he was done, he slid back down, sighing in relief as he returned to soft mattress. 

“Roll over a minute, let me check those bruises.”

Tony groaned and obeyed, wincing as the muscles in his chest pulled at his ribs and twinged. Clint gently prodded at his back, making Tony whimper. 

“Jeez, they’re even worse than before. You’re going to be black for a few days.”

“Rhodey’s gonna be mad.”

“You want some painkillers and a hotpack?”

Tony rolled back over and nodded, giving Clint puppy dog eyes. “Can I have ice cream?”

“You just woke up.”

“You can have some too, and we won’t tell Natasha or Steve.”

“Okay, yeah, I’m sold. I’ll be right back.”

Clint left again, which made Tony frown, but his eyes were drifting shut again and sleep just sounded… so…

* * *

After three days of doing almost nothing but sleeping, Tony finally forced himself out of bed, unwilling to make Clint bring him food anymore. He still felt exhausted, but maybe he just needed to get moving again to recover some energy.

Plus Pepper was starting to get antsy about some upcoming designs he had due.

After three cups of coffee, he staggered off to the workshop and got to work.

* * *

“Tony. Tony.”

Tony blinked and looked around. “Bruce! Brucie, look, I found this thing -”

“Tony, you’ve been down here for forty-eight hours. You’ve got two minutes before you are forcibly removed - what did you do to your arm?”

Tony blinked and looked down at his arm, where the bandages had bled through. “Cut it on a piece of scrap, cleaned it, wrapped it.”

“I’m going to rewrap it, then.”

“Okay,” Tony said cheerfully. He didn’t mind if it was Bruce. 

Bruce checked the cut, and frowned. “This shouldn’t have bled so much.”

Tony shrugged. “Probably because I kept moving. Couldn’t scab over.”

“Sure. Come on, let’s get you upstairs before Thor comes down.”

Tony followed Bruce up the stairs, chattering about his latest breakthrough, and then he almost fell over halfway up the stairs.

“Tony?!”

“Huh. I’m kinda really tired. And my bruises hurt. Clint. Clliiiiiiinnnnnnttttt -”

“There you are. I was wondering if you’d turned into a robot yourself yet.”

“Clint, take me to bed.”

“Don’t have to ask me twice,” Clint said, grinning, “but you really need to eat first.”

Tony grumbled, but obeyed. He almost fell asleep in his food at least three times, and he wasn’t really sure what he was eating. He barely noted the worried looks Clint and Bruce were giving him. After he finished eating, he stumbled into the bathroom to pee first.

He blinked at the toilet bowl. Was that blood?

“Jarvis, make a note for when I wake up,” he said, and flushed, moving to wash his hands.

“Of course, sir.”

Tony fell face-first into bed vaguely noting the feeling of someone removing his shoes as he drifted off immediately.

* * *

“Tony. Tony, you’ve been asleep for eighteen hours.”

Tony groaned and rolled over, glaring blearily up at Clint. “Tired,” he said.

Clint smiled at him. “Yeah. Here, I brought you breakfast.”

Tony smiled, forcing himself upwards despite the heaviness in his limbs. “Thanks,” he said.

“Yeah. I’m heading out in four hours; I’ll be gone about a week.”

Tony pouted, tugging Clint into bed with him. “At least give me a proper goodbye.”

“You’re exhausted - and still hurting from that last fight. Your bruises haven’t faded at all.”

Tony sighed. “Just… cuddle with me and we’ll watch _Jurassic Park_.”

Clint smiled. “That we can do.”

So they cuddled and watched _Jurassic Park_ , and when Clint left, Tony sighed. He didn’t go back to sleep, though, as Jarvis interrupted him.

“Sir, you asked me to make a note.”

Tony blinked. “Of what?”

“There was blood in your urine, sir.”

“Oh. Probably just bruised a kidney.”

“You’ve also been extremely fatigued, you have lost inexplicable weight, your bruises are fading far too slowly, and your bleeding has taken much longer to cease than typical. You are also running a slight fever.”

“We had a rough fight.”

“Almost a week ago.”

Tony paused. “What do you want?”

“Please schedule an appointment with Dr. Harper, sir.”

“There’s nothing wrong!”

“ _Please_ , sir. Agent Barton and Dr. Banner are worried as well.”

Tony frowned. Jarvis rarely said please, let alone so earnestly. “Fine. But don’t tell anyone, I don’t want them worrying over nothing. And I want this done before Clint comes home. Here. I’m not going to the office.”

“Of course, sir, I’ll handle all the details.”

“Thanks, Jarvis,” Tony sighed.

“Of course, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. As a consolation prize, it's ginormous.


	3. Omelets

Tony was very relieved that he planned for Dr. Miranda Harper to come to him, because he _refused_ to get out of bed. He felt like he’d been bowled over by a Doombot the night before, without any armor on. Which was ridiculous. He’d even gone to bed at a semi-reasonable hour.

“Well. I must say, when Jarvis asked me to make a house call, I didn’t expect to find you already in bed. It makes my life _much_ simpler.”

Tony groaned in the general direction of the dark-haired woman. Dr. Harper, his personal medical expert. He almost never actually contacted her, though. “I’m exhausted. All the time.”

“Yes, I know. Jarvis gave me a list of things.”

“Good.”

“I need a blood sample.”

Tony frowned, looking at her blearily. “What? I’m just fighting the flu or something. ‘S no biggie.”

“You’ve had the flu. Did it really feel like this?” Dr. Harper asked.

Tony frowned and didn’t reply, which was an answer in and of itself. “Fine,” he grumbled.

Dr. Harper was very quick and very efficient. She swabbed his inner elbow and took two vials of blood. She then handed Tony a package of double-stuff oreos and a large glass of water. 

“Sacrilege,” Tony hissed.

Dr. Harper rolled her eyes. “I’m aware, but you need it. If you finish the glass, I’ll go get a glass of milk for after.”

Tony grinned and started guzzling the liquid. 

“I’ll have the results back within two days. Possibly sooner if I call in a favor.”

“Awesome. Just in time for me to clear everything so Clint doesn’t freak out over nothing.”

* * *

Okay, so… not exactly nothing.

Tony stared at the results on his screen, pages of research and details and notes and theory. 

“How do I tell Clint?” Tony asked softly. “How do I tell anyone?”

“Perhaps you should make an omelet.” Jarvis answered.

“Haha, very funny.”

Tony kept staring at the diagnosis on the screen. Dr. Harper had come to give him the news in person; she’d long since gone, leaving a note for Tony to call if he needed anything.

Acute promyelocytic leukemia.

What did the world have against him anyway? First the palladium, now this. It just wasn’t _fair_. He had a husband now. A son. The Avengers. Family. How was he supposed to tell them he was dying? He wanted to live. To stay alive.

Shit, he felt like he was going to cry.

“...Tony?”

Tony jumped a bit and turned. Clint was home.

* * *

Clint groaned and stretched as he got off the plane. He was finally home. As he relaxed and settled, the hyper-awareness from his mission drifting away, he felt the worry settle back in. Tony had been in bad shape when Clint left; nothing life-threatening, he was just so exhausted by everything. It was disturbing when noted in the normally exuberant billionaire.

Clint was probably just overthinking it, but something felt _wrong_ , and Clint usually paid attention to his instincts. Maybe something like anemia? 

Clint had the next two weeks off, so he would hopefully be able to talk Tony into seeing a doctor.

When he made it back to the tower, he hit the showers first. If he didn’t smell like gunpowder, he would have gone straight for the kitchen, but it was too much of a trigger for most of the other Avengers. He headed straight there once most of the smell was gone, though, seizing the first plate of leftovers he found and sticking it in the microwave. He was absolutely starving, and the leftover lasagna tasted heavenly. He even ate the bits on the edges that got crispy when he reheated it.

Finally, fed, showered, and in a much better mood, he set out to locate his husband. To be honest, Clint was a little surprised Tony hadn’t ambushed him in the kitchen, but if the billionaire was still exhausted like he had been before Clint left, it made sense. 

“Jarvis, where’s Tony?”

“Sir is in the workshop,” Jarvis said. Clint frowned; he sounded distracted. 

“Jarvis?”

“Yes, Master Clint?”

“...Nevermind.” Jarvis was being deliberately obtuse. That did not bode well.

Clint made his way down to Tony’s workshop. He frowned walking past the wall of windows that blocked off the workshop from the hall. They were frosted, a sure sign Tony was working on something he didn’t necessarily want anyone else to see. Reaching the door, Clint tapped in his code, relieved when it opened the door.

Tony was sitting perpendicular to Clint, staring at something on the screen in front of him. Clint’s hackles rose. Tony was as still as carved marble, face set into stone like the words on a tomb. He looked angry and sad and desperate and Clint _did not like this_.

“...Tony?”

Tony jumped a bit and turned towards him. “Hey, Clint,” he said after a pause.

“Tony, what’s wrong?” Clint asked, every sense on high alert.

Tony closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I had an appointment with Dr. Harper while you were gone.”

Clint’s fists clenched. “...And?”

Tony opened his mouth, then closed it again. Finally he gestured at the screen in front of him. Clint crossed the room at once, tucking himself in around his husband before he looked at the screen.

He froze.

“Tony. Tony, why is this full of options for treating leukemia?”

Tony shook and Clint couldn’t move. No. No, it wasn’t _fair_. The tests had to be wrong. They had to be. Tony didn’t have cancer. He couldn’t.

Tony heaved a single sob in Clint’s arms and Clint felt himself just sort of… collapse. His eyes roved over the information on the screen. 

“70% long-term remission rates. We’ve beaten worse odds,” Clint said, and his own voice sounded a bit… distant. Like it wasn’t quite his.

“I can’t keep - every time something good happens the world just threatens to steal it away, and I can’t keep -” Tony melted, the stone drifting away from his features and turning into something more like rain.

“We won’t let it, dammit!” Clint yelled. “I refuse!” his arms tightened around his husband. Tony hissed a little and Clint loosened them immediately - right, crabs. 

“How do I tell Peter? The others? Shit, I have to tell Pepper so she can smooth things over with the board - Rhodey’s going to kill me -”

“Tony.” Clint said, and he needed to pull himself together. He needed to be a rock, for a minute, so Tony could have his turn to break a little. “Rhodey might find the cure all on his own, for you. But let’s take this one step at a time. Peter first.”

Tony took a deep breath and nodded. “Jarvis suggested omelets.”

Clint winced. The silent Stark-Barton signal for REALLY BAD news. “Yeah, sounds about right.”

Neither of them moved yet, though. Clint’s fingers pressed against Tony’s wrist, and he counted heartbeats. Tony’s fingers tapped on the arc reactor beneath his shirt, another soothing reminder of his heart still beating. Tony would be fine. They’d all be fine. They’d get through it, and Tony would live.

There were no other options.

* * *

Peter froze as soon as he entered the kitchen. He tossed his backpack aside. He stared at his parents where they leaned against each other in the middle of the kitchen.

“Why are there omelets?” Peter asked, aware his voice was much more high-pitched than he intended when he originally opened his mouth to ask.

Tony and Clint both winced.

“Hi, Peter, how was your day?” Tony asked.

“OMELETS,” Peter repeated. “I don’t think it matters how my day was because I have no doubt it’s about to get infinitely worse.”

Tony sighed and moved over to the counter, taking a seat on a stool. Peter sat next to him, eyeing both his parents warily. Maybe there was a problem with the adoption. Maybe they didn’t want him anymore.

Nah, that was just ridiculous.

Maybe they were going to make him stop being Spider-Man.

“Peter,” Tony said, and paused, like he wasn’t sure how to go on. Peter’s spider-sense tingled and his anxiety skyrocketed.

“What?” he asked, almost desperately. 

“I had an appointment with Dr. Harper a couple days ago,” Tony said. “I. I have cancer, Petey.”

Peter bolted to his feet. This was so, so much worse. “No,” he said. “Nope, not allowed.”

Tony looked at him miserably.

“It’s not _fair_ ,” Peter said, and both Clint and Tony snorted.

“Yeah, that’s what we said, kiddo,” Clint said.

Peter stayed frozen as Clint and Tony slowly reached forward to give him a hug. 

Peter sniffed. He _just_ found his dads. He didn’t want to lose one!

If he was holding Tony a little more tightly than usual, well, Tony didn’t protest.

* * *

Tony sighed and looked around at the gathered faces. They’d decided to tell the rest of the Avengers all at once. It was Peter’s night to cook, so he made omelets.

And now there was a crowd of Avengers watching the three with wary eyes. Thor, Steve, Bruce, Natasha, and Coulson all crowded around the kitchen table in unprecedented silence. Peter was still hovering around Tony like he’d disappear if Peter looked away, and Clint wasn’t much better.

“Tony?” Steve asked, clearly braced for bad news.

“I had an appointment with Dr. Harper a couple days ago,” Tony said. His voice didn’t sound quite right, but whatever. He was starting to get used to this speech.

The whole room tensed at the words. Tony, voluntarily seeing a doctor?

“...And?” Natasha demanded.

Tony opened his mouth and tried to force the words out. Again. He looked at Clint.

Clint’s jaw worked for a moment. “Leukemia,” he ground out.

Natasha’s eyes widened. “You have cancer?” she demanded, and understanding lit Steve and Thor’s eyes. Bruce was breathing very, very carefully, and Coulson maintained his usual calm facade, but they all noticed the tension in his shoulders.

Tony nodded stiffly.

The various emotions playing across the different Avengers’ faces made him look away. 

“...I need to,” Bruce stood abruptly and booked it for the stairs down to the Hulk room. 

“What kind of cancer,” Coulson demanded.

“Acute promyelocytic leukemia,” Tony replied automatically.

“It does have a 70% long-term remission rate,” Clint said.

Everyone relaxed a little at that. Tony ate odds like those for breakfast.

“Anyway!” Tony stood up abruptly. “I’m exhausted, this has been the day from hell, I’m going to bed. See you all tomorrow!”

He swept right out of the room, Peter trailing him like a puppy. 

The Avengers exchanged glances and split. They needed to figure out how to handle this. Most of them headed for their private workout rooms. Except Coulson, who calmly started scraping uneaten omelets into the trash.

* * *

Steve went straight for the punching bag, but found himself staring at it for a long, long time. There wasn’t really an enemy to fight. He couldn’t battle this particular nightmare away, not like he wanted to. So Steve turned away from the punching bag. He couldn’t outrun this problem either, but he could certainly try. Sam was in town. Steve could probably make it to his hotel in under an hour.

* * *

Thor didn’t understand, not entirely. And Thor needed to understand. He needed to know how to help.

“Jarvis? I know we have met many kids with cancer. Is it different, with an adult?”

Jarvis started pulling up helpful websites.

* * *

Natasha slid across the hardwood floor like it was ice, and she wore skates. Her mind whirled like her feet, and she danced the energy away.

And when the energy was gone, she breathed, and she knew that she would be able to be strong for her boys. For Peter, who was probably having a panic attack all over his dads. For Tony, who had already had so much crap thrown his way and kept getting up again. For Clint, who wouldn’t even let the possibility of the end cross his mind, even though he’d seen so many endings. 

Natasha was very good at being strong.

* * *

Hulk raged. He raged, and raged, because he understood - he understood that Tony was fighting an enemy Hulk couldn’t help with, and Hulk just wanted to smash. Eventually, though, Hulk’s rage ran dry. Hulk knew Bruce could help. Tiny Bruce, who had never been good at hurting and smashing like he should be. 

Bruce woke tired, and heartbroken. Because Bruce couldn’t help. Not really. This wasn’t the flu, or a broken limb, or stitches. This was cancer, and all Bruce wanted to do was run away. Run, run, run away. His solution for everything.

But this was Tony. Tony who never flinched when Bruce got frustrated in the lab. Tony who had faced down an army general just so Bruce could run away from him. Tony, who designed a home Bruce couldn’t break, who gleefully invented stretchy pants, of all things.

This time, Bruce couldn’t run. He didn’t have a degree in biology and medsci for nothing.

* * *

Phil cleaned the kitchen, calmly, and proceeded to retire to his office. The amount of paperwork for this would be astronomical; Phil didn’t think he would do any of it, though. If there was any sign that one of the heaviest hitters of the Avengers had cancer, things would not go well. Fury would have to know, of course. Phil was going to need to order several bottles of scotch… no, this was not a scotch problem. He was going straight to the moonshine lady in the apartment building Clint somehow owned. Phil hadn’t asked for details. Hill… Phil would wait and see with Hill. She didn’t think the Avengers were a good idea in the first place, but she did have a bit of a soft spot for the individuals involved, even if she thought they were all insane. He’d wait and see.

And he would be the one who took care of it. The others would have enough to be getting on with.

* * *

Tony brought an omelette to Pepper’s office. Ever since the palladium incident, she had known that an omelette was the sign that Tony needed to tell her something _really_ important, but might have a hard time getting it out. Sure enough, as soon as she saw the plate in his hands, she capped her pen and told her secretary to reroute all calls until Tony left again. Tony sat on the edge of the swivel chair in her office.

“Tony?”

“Hey, Pep. Uh.”

“Does this have to do with the bill I just saw for Dr. Harper’s services?”

Tony nodded.

“Are you dying?”

Tony made a face and wobbled his hand back and forth. “There’s 70% remission rates, so I’m less dying than with the palladium, and probably the same dying as the average Tuesday, just slower and with added chemotherapy.”

Pepper stared at him, parsing through that. “You… Tony, oh - you have cancer?”

Tony nodded.

Pepper looked frozen for a long moment. “We really just can’t catch a break, can we?” she asked, breathing out on a long sigh.

“It’s not _fair_ ,” Tony said. Whined, really. Pepper had always been the one he turned to when he had problems, at least when he could, or knew how to. Pepper could fix everything… except maybe this, but Tony wouldn’t put it past her. 

“I’ll deal with the board. The company.”

“You do that anyway.”

Pepper rolled her eyes at him. “Good job actually telling me this time; it makes it so much easier to handle your antics when I have advance notice.”

Tony grinned at her. The familiar banter was helping him settle into his own skin a little more. “Good! You can tell Rhodey, then!”

“Oh no, you aren’t getting out of telling him yourself that easily. Besides, he’ll be here this afternoon, won’t he? You can tell him in person!”

Tony winced. “And here I thought you loved me!”

“I hate job-hunting,” Pepper sniffed. “At least if Rhodey shoots you I don’t have to deal with the improbability factor.”

Tony pressed a hand to his heart. “Et tu, Brutus!” 

“Just because you actually sat through the entirety of the play for charity doesn’t mean you can use that to save yourself. Especially since I had to tie you to your chair.”

Tony stuck his nose in the air. “I know not of what you speak.”

“Get out of here. I have work to do, and I bet you husband’s missing you.”

Tony’s smile dimmed a little. “Yeah, probably,” he agreed.

“Will that be all, Mr. Stark?”

“That’ll be all, Ms. Potts,” Tony said, standing and sweeping out the door.

Pepper watched him go with tired eyes. She just had to go and get a best friend who couldn’t stay out of trouble. Well, at least she was never bored. With a sigh, she directed her secretary to hold all communications for the next hour (not an unusual request to make after a visit from Tony), and settled in to have a good cry. She would deal with the board when the time came, and probably end up as one of Tony’s main supports, since he wouldn’t want to burden any of the others and they didn’t know how to bully him into dealing with his emotions, so right now, she needed to deal with her own.

* * *

It was never, ever a good sign when Tony came to meet Happy in his small office, rather than just calling him to bring the car around.

NEVER.

Still, Happy supposed it could be worse. Tony could have called someone else to bring a car around. That was infinitely worse. 

“What brings you to my tiny corner of SI?” Happy asked, warily.

“You sound like my visiting is a bad thing.”

Happy just looks at him, waiting. He’s always been a patient man, which is definitely good when dealing with Tony Stark. Happy was just glad Clint had largely taken over the task of keeping Tony fed and healthy - though it still fell to Happy when Tony was on a business trip without his husband or son, who ate like three horses and a whale put together. Luckily, Happy had long since learned all the best foods to trick Tony into eating.

He turns his attention back to Tony, whose largely meaningless rambling is finally winding down to what Tony actually came to say. Sure enough, Tony winds down into silence, which drags on. Happy raises a Pepper-like eyebrow at the right moment, and Tony opens his mouth again.

“I have cancer, Happy.”

Tony Stark has cancer? Happy reels. It’s like the ultimate joke from the universe. _Tony Stark_ has cancer. It’s such an ordinary tragedy. Happy thought Tony had completely passed those by in favor of the ridiculous, but it seemed the universe disapproved of that. 

“Blueberries,” he said.

“What?”

“Blueberries, in oatmeal. And maybe eggs? Oh, and of course various smoothies - at least I don’t have to trick you into eating those. We’ll have to cut down on the oreos.”

“What?! No, why!?”

“They aren’t good for you.”

“I knew you were going to be like this, you mother hen! There’s no need for that yet. Besides, 70% remission rates, for my particular strain - I could beat those odds with my eyes closed. So I will not be cutting back on the oreos.”

“We’ll see,” Happy said, and didn’t comment on Tony’s white-knuckled grip on Happy’s sleeve. He didn’t think Tony had noticed himself. “I’ll recruit Peter.”

“You - you - you _health demon_.”

Happy smirked. He’d always been good at getting Tony where he needed to be. “To remission” was honestly one of the less strange trips he’d ever made with the billionaire, though he suspected it might turn out to be one of the hardest.

* * *

Usually, when James Rhodes arrived to visit Tony on his leave, he was greeted loudly, and mobbed by a hyperactive genius with thirty ideas for upgrades on the War Machine armor, and possibly a new car.

Today, Tony slid into the passenger seat of Rhodey’s car before the man had a chance to turn off the engine. Quietly. 

“Let’s go for a drive, Rhodey,” Tony said. And that was all.

Rhodey’s face dipped out of its relaxed expression and into upset. “Okay.”

Tony nodded, and Rhodey left the garage again, heading towards the city limits.

“What’s wrong, kid?” Rhodey asked, after several long minutes of silence.

Tony sighed, a gusting breath that put Rhodey’s hackles up. “I have bad news.”

“I figured that out, idiot. What KIND of bad news?”

“The doctor kind.”

Rhodey frowned. “ _You_ saw a doctor?”

“Yeah.”

“Voluntarily and with prior knowledge of the event?”

“Yep.”

It was quiet for several more long minutes, Rhodey carefully bracing himself. “Clint’s worked miracles with your willingness to do things that keep you alive.”

“Yeah, he has,” Tony said, offering a half-smile. It looked tired, like it had been overused lately.

“Well? What is it? Rip it off like a bandaid.”

“I have cancer, Rhodey.”

Rhodey hit the brakes instinctively, drawing several loud honks from people behind him. Taking a deep breath, he pressed down the gas. “ _Dammit_.”

“Ironic, right?” Tony laughed. “I survived how many Avengers missions, and now this. There’s like a 70% chance of long-term remission, though. That’s something.”

“You don’t sound very confident, considering the type of odds you usually have to deal with.”

“It would just figure something with good odds would be what finally kills me.”

“Don’t be like that,” Rhodey said, sharply, “Don’t do that to yourself.”

Tony looked away. “I can’t keep getting up after every hit forever, Rhodey,” he said.

“You can this time, though. You certainly have more to fight for than you did when you dragged yourself out of a back alley at MIT with a stomach wound and drunk half off your ass.”

“Ah, yes, our rather auspicious meeting.”

“Auspicious. Right. I don’t think there’s actually a worse way to meet someone. _Don’t_ come up with any examples,” Rhodey warned, eyeing the spark in Tony’s eyes with trepidation.

“Don’t leave me such a good opening, then,” Tony retorted. 

They fell quiet again. “We’ll all be right there with you, Tones.”

“Well then. You’re telling Mama Rhodes.”

Rhodey groaned, and turned the car back towards the tower.

* * *

When they arrived, Tony headed for the penthouse, and Rhodey went for his usual guest room. Tossing his duffel on a chair, he collapsed onto the bed.

“Hey, Jarvis,” he said.

“Good evening, Colonel Rhodes.”

“How are you holding up?”

“Ah. Sir told you.”

“Yes,” Rhodey said, nodding. “He’s made remarkable progress with the whole letting-other-people-help-him thing.”

“I believe most of the credit for that must go to Master Clint,” Jarvis remarked. “And Young Master Peter, as well.”

Rhodey laughed. “I have never seen a kid so determined to take care of his parents before. Except maybe you.”

Jarvis’ silence practically radiated surprise. “Me, Colonel?”

“Oh, don’t try that with me. We both know it.”

“...I suppose so. Mr. Hogan and I have been compiling a list of light health foods for Sir to eat. It is likely he will have significant nausea along with the chemotherapy it is likely he will undergo.”

“See? Already raising the odds.” Rhodey waited, as the silence reigned.

“Yes,” Jarvis said. “Yes, we are.”

Rhodey smiled. Jarvis would be okay.

* * *

Tony sighed wearily, slipping into his penthouse after a long day of breaking the worst news possible to the people who cared most.

“How’d they take it?”

“Like champs,” Tony said, turning to face Clint. “The others?”

“Working it out. Steve may have told Sam.”

“That’s fine… How’s Peter taking it?” 

“Not brilliantly. He just lost his uncle and aunt in less than two years, found a new dad, and now…”

“It’s not like we don’t face death every day.”

“Yeah, but it’s a different sort of fight.”

Tony sighed again as warm arms wrapped around his waist. He leaned back into Clint. “True. I swear if anyone starts to quote Dylan Thomas at me, I will send Dummy after them with a fire extinguisher.”

Clint snorted.

“Dad?” Peter asked, peeking around the corner.

“Come on, kid,” Tony said, and Peter joined them at once. He looked up at them nervously.

“I know I’m kind of old, but… can we have a sleepover in the living room?”

“Only if you drag out the big mattress for us old men, Spidey,” Tony replied, and Peter was off in a flash. 

“Just promise me to keep Thor away from the poetry, Clint. I’m pretty sure that was in our wedding vows somewhere.”

“I can only do so much against the wrath of Jane,” Clint said.

“Fiiiine, but Darcy had better not get involved. Any food around here?” Tony wasn’t really hungry, but he figured he should eat, since he hadn’t. Clint really had done wonders for his ability to take care of himself. Besides, the hangdog sad-puppy look Clint got when Tony skipped too many meals was so tragic it once convinced Tiger Shark to stop an attack on the city.

“Saved you some salad and spaghetti.”

Tony didn’t want Clint to let go, so he firmly dragged him along on his route to the kitchen. Pouting, he surrendered and let go of the archer when he realized how hard it was to reheat a meal while attached to him. As soon as the microwave was running though, he wrapped his arms around his husband again.

He might not have much longer to hold on.

“Is that spaghetti?”

Clint laughed, and Tony relished the rumble of his chest. “Hungry again already? Damn super-metabolisms.”

Peter smirked at him. “I’m a growing superhero, I need my ten square meals a day.”

“Yeah, yeah. There’s more in the fridge.”

Peter promptly opened the fridge, retrieved the spaghetti, closed the fridge, and inserted the spaghetti into the second microwave. Tony mostly kept it so that there was a backup available when Thor inevitably fried one, but it was often useful for leftover night, too. Both of them scarfed their spaghetti down fast, Peter complaining when he burned his tongue. Tony laughed at him. 

Then Peter tugged them along into the living room. Sure enough, the Big Mattress was tossed across the floor, couches pushed to the side, and everything was absolutely covered in blankets and pillows. The main menu for _Arsenic and Old Lace_ was showing on the giant flatscreen, making Tony giggle. His son knew exactly how to cheer him up. 

The three Stark-Barton boys piled into the oversized bed and hit play.

Tony sighed, wrapped up up in Clint’s arms with one of Peter’s arms thrown across his stomach. “I’m not going anywhere, you octopi,” he grumbled, but they both knew better than to take him seriously. 

“You’re one to talk,” Clint said, grinning.

Tony snorted and closed his eyes, content to listen to the comedy he had practically memorized. His mind wandered, and he found himself dwelling on the next day. Tomorrow was March 15th. A month ago, he was on a Valentine’s date with his husband, and his biggest worries were which car his son would take out and which supervillain was going to attack in the morning.

Freak, the Ides of March. Seriously, Tony was not Julius Caesar. Really. Screw the universe and its diabolical parallels. 

“Stop thinking,” Clint said, interrupting his thoughts. 

“‘S annoying,” Peter agreed, already half asleep. 

Tony grinned. “I’m a genius. It’s an occupational hazard.”

“Jarv, play that one next,” Peter instructed. “Dragons, good. Vikings, sarcastic. Awesomeness.”

“Get all thinky like that again and I’ll start a pillow fight,” Clint threatened.

“Nooo, I’m tired,” Tony whined. 

“Well then, sleep,” Clint said.

Tony hmmd. Sounded good to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A million, million, trillion thanks to Hawkwind1980, my amazing Beta Reader! You all have to thank her, as without her, there would likely not be an update. Also, thank you all for your amazing comments on the last chapter; sorry I couldn't reply to them all


	4. Spa Days

Tony yawned and slid on clean clothes. He grinned. He’d not only showered, he’d put on clean clothes, even! He deserved praise. “Jarvis, take me upstairs,” he said, bouncing over to the elevator. “I deserve to be acknowledged for my greatness.”

“For remembering what most boys learn before puberty? Indeed, sir,” Jarvis said, sounding oddly anticipatory.

“What’s got you so excited?” Tony asked as the elevator slid to a stop.

Jarvis didn’t answer as the elevator doors slid open at the common kitchen. “Guys, look! I got dressed and everything,” Tony said, pleased with himself.

Everyone turned to look at him and froze.

“What?” Tony asked. Those weren’t faces of delight like he had been expecting.

“What did you _do_ , blow yourself up?” Clint asked, looking panicked as Peter paled.

Tony frowned. “What? I had at least a dozen fewer accidents today. And I haven’t worked with explosives in six weeks!”

“You look like you’ve been run over by a bus,” Natasha said drily.

“...Anyone have a mirror? I will admit that I didn’t look at one.”

Steve handed one over. Tony blinked at the bruise high on his cheekbone and the one curling around the back of his neck, then made note of several nasty ones on his arms. “Oh, no, this is nothing like being run over by a bus. I was much paler then, and I had actual broken bones. This is more like Clint after he lets himself get interrogated, except way less painful.”

“You’ve been hit by a bus?!” Steve said, horrified.

“No, definitely not,” Tony informed him hastily. 

“For some reason I don’t believe you.”

Tony turned up his nose. “Not my fault I bruise like a ripe peach lately.”

Peter passed him a plate with much more care than normal, and Tony sighed. Apparently this was going to be a thing. “Tomorrow’s my first appointment,” he announced.

Dinner was somewhat subdued after that, despite everyone’s best efforts.

* * *

Clint twiddled his fingers, supporting Peter’s weight on his shoulder without comment. His eyes were trained on the door deeper into the private clinic. Today was Tony’s first treatment session, and Tony had absolutely refused to allow anyone in with him, except Natasha, for some odd reason. If Clint had to make a guess, he’d say it was maybe because Natasha had known him when he was dying from the palladium, and it hadn’t affected her treatment of him at all; she still treated him with the same easy professionalism on the field as everyone else, even if she thought he was an idiot behind closed doors. Everyone was so relieved that Tony was willing to get treatment and tell them he was dying that they hadn’t protested much, since they didn’t want to risk him refusing entirely.

“Da?” Peter asked, softly.

Clint forced his tense muscles to relax and unwound his fingers, slipping one arm around Peter. “Yeah, Peter?”

Peter shrugged. “It’ll be okay. Dad’s strong.”

“Yeah, he is,” Clint said.

“So are you.”

Clint wasn’t so sure about that, but he tightened the arm around Peter and nodded. “And you. We’re just a family of cockroaches, can’t keep us down.”

A startled laugh escaped Peter’s lips. “New York cockroaches,” he agreed. “The big ones.”

Clint shuddered. “Now there’s an interesting mental image.”

Both of their attention was drawn away from the conversation by the door opening.

Tony came out of his first treatment session with a brittle smile and shaky breathing. Clint was there in an instant to hold him up. Peter tucked himself under Tony’s other side almost as quickly as Clint, though much more carefully. The teenage superhero had been much more aware of his relative strength recently. He was terrified of adding to Tony’s all-too-common bruises, especially after the horrid showing at dinner.

Surrounded by his family, Tony’s shaking settled a little bit. “I want pizza. The veggie gourmet from Papa Murphy’s. The one with the artichoke hearts on it.”

“Next time we’re in California,” Clint promised. “I bet we could get Bruce to do a homemade version tonight.”

“Yeah, okay,” Tony said.

“I’ll call and ask him in the car,” Clint said.

Tony nodded and started moving towards the car. He looked exhausted, and Clint kept pace with him, trying to stay a steady presence. Natasha caught up with them after finishing off the small amount of paperwork necessary to document the visit. There was something tight around her eyes, but she showed no other sign of upset.

“We’re getting pizza,” Tony told her. “Well, Clint’s going to ask Bruce to make pizza. The good veggie kind, with artichokes.”

“We’d better swing by the store and get some artichokes, then. I’m pretty sure we’re all out,” Natasha replied.

Tony nodded as they reached the car, pulling the door open and sliding into the passenger side seat. Clint resisted the urge to open and close the door for him, knowing Tony wouldn’t appreciate it right now. Peter and Natasha hopped in the back seat as Clint climbed in the driver’s side.

“Peter, would you call Bruce?”

“Yep!”

“Smart move,” Tony approved. “Bruce can’t ever deny our Peter anything.”

“That’s ‘cuz I’m adorable,” Peter said, cheerfully. “Hey, Uncle Bruce! Would you cook tonight?” A pause. “Pizza. The veggie kind with the artichoke hearts.” Another pause. “Awesome! We’ll pick up the artichoke hearts on the way home. Okay, see you then.”

“See, no denial,” Tony said.

“It’s not like Bruce can deny you anything, either,” Peter said, tucking away his phone.

“True.”

Clint’s eyes flickered between them in the rearview and the road. For the first time, it hit him, really hit him, that he had a family. A really good one. One he might not be allowed to keep for much longer. Clint had no illusions; without Tony’s political sway, they would not be allowed to keep Peter, either. He could lose them both.

Tony’s hand settled over his hand where it rested on the stick, and Clint breathed in. Ridiculous. As if Tony would let this beat him.

They’d be fine. Everything would be fine, Tony would beat the cancer, and Clint would get to keep his family.

They’d be fine.

* * *

It wasn’t like his dad to pick at his pizza, Peter thought, watching Tony slowly eat a slice. Normally Tony was one of those downing half a dozen slices as fast as possible, and then complaining about not being able to fit into his flight suit later. Now Tony honestly looked a little nauseous.

But Peter really didn’t want to think about his dad being sick, so he leaned into Tony’s side a little more and kicked his feet up on the coffee table. Time to dispel the horrid silence broken only by chewing.

“Feet off the table,” Tony said automatically.

Peter huffed a put-upon sigh and slowly, dramatically lowered his feet.

“The sarcasm is strong with this one,” Clint said, relaxing a bit. That was good.

“I have to be, to balance out all the stupid,” Peter said.

“Oi,” Tony said, drily.

“You once tried to use duct tape instead of getting stitches,” Natasha said. “No room to talk.”

“Seriously?” Bruce asked, exasperated.

Tony glowered. “That was _one_ time. And it isn’t like Peter hasn’t done stuff like that too.”

“Name one time,” Peter said.

Tony opened his mouth, and froze there, blinking.

Peter nodded. “Advantage of dating a doctor in training, is that she’ll do my stitches for me.”

Tony grumbled indistinctly, and Peter grinned.

“What was that? I didn’t quite catch it.”

“Devil child!”

“Spider, actually.”

Tony flailed slightly, and Peter noted with satisfaction that all that was left of the slice of pizza was the crust. Looked like a distraction was still enough to get past the nausea, for now. 

“Of course, I heal fast enough I usually don’t need stitches. Though I did once use the webbing to seal a wound, but only until I had enough time to stop fighting baddies and get it looked at. Stopgap.”

Clint snorted. “Yeah, that counts as stupid.”

Peter turned to him, raising one eyebrow. “Oh? Like, say, leaving an arrow in the wound?”

Clint winced. “So much regret for telling you old spy stories. So much.”

Peter nodded, satisfied that all opponents had been conquered. He started on another slice of pizza as the others finally broke into an argument over proper medical procedures. That was much better.

* * *

Steve leaned against the side of the Bugatti and sighed. He’d been on a mission the weekend of Tony’s first appointment, and he had thought being here would be easier than thinking about it while he was away.

He was very wrong. Being here was worse, because he was here, but not with Tony, though he knew his self-assigned task of picking Peter up from school was still important. He really wished Tony would let someone other than Natasha into his appointments, even if it was just Clint. The archer had looked a wreck sitting in the waiting room chairs. 

Steve heard the bell ring and watched the students pouring out of the building. He caught a familiar head of brown hair lingering under an archway with a pretty blonde. Steve hadn’t met Gwen Stacy yet, unlike Tony and Clint, but he’d heard great things about her. It looked like she was comforting Peter. Steve sighed. If Tony hadn’t insisted it was ridiculous for Peter to miss class just because he had a treatment session, he had little doubt Peter would be sitting in that waiting room with Clint, too. 

Steve just felt so useless. He couldn’t take his fists to an illness. He couldn’t fight this one for Tony. All he seemed to be able to do was watch.

Across the courtyard, Peter held Gwen like she was the anchor to his ship in a storm-tossed sea, and Steve felt a slight pang of longing for his best friend, his rock. They’d found and talked to Bucky quite a bit, but James Barnes had decided he needed to keep moving, for now, and started on a road trip across the country not unlike the one Steve had taken after the Chitauri. He checked in with Jarvis once in awhile, but no one had heard from him much. Steve wasn’t sure if he’d even been told about the situation. 

“Hey, Steve,” Peter interrupted his thoughts. Gwen was still with him, their fingers laced together. “Gwen’s coming over for a little.”

“Okay. Want to swing through a drive through and get ice cream cones before we head back?”

That drew a smile from Peter. “Yeah, sounds good. We can get one for my dads, too.”

“Just one?”

“They have the same favorite anyway.”

Steve snickered. “True. Okay then, one cookie dough - and of course pistachio almond for Bruce. I’ve gotta get moose tracks, and a rocky road for Thor. Honey lavender for Natasha, and vanilla for Phil… And for you two?”

“I want cookies and cream, today,” Peter said. He cycled through ice cream flavors quickly.

“Caramel swirl, for me,” Gwen said.

“Oh, and Pepper and Rhodey are here today, so we’d better get a chocolate and a mocha almond fudge, too.”

Steve nodded. “Well, we’d better get going, then.”

There were certainly worse jobs than chauffeur and ice-cream-deliverer.

* * *

James Barnes yawned, and took a seat at a park bench. He pulled his phone out. He hadn’t checked in with the others in a week or two, and he didn’t want them chasing him down from worry. 

“Sergeant Barnes,” Jarvis greeted. James always dialled the number to get Jarvis, rather than the others; he was easier to talk to, and he was less likely to try and pressure James into talking about what he did or didn’t remember.

“Hey, J. Just checking in again. How’s everyone?”

Jarvis hesitated. “As well as can be expected,” he said.

James frowned. “What’s happened?” he asked sharply.

“Master Stark has been diagnosed with leukemia,” Jarvis said, slightly faster than usual. Like ripping off a bandaid, James thought grimly, as he waited for the new information to click and settle. Tony Stark, the infuriating, idiotic, brilliant, maniacal inventor, brought down by cancer? As if. 

Steve was probably being _insufferable_. He was going to need someone to hit him with a clue-by-four, hard, in order to quit being an overbearing mother hen. And not just to Tony - he’d probably try to do it to Peter and Clint, too, and likely even the other Avengers. Looked like his road trip was over.

“Get a room ready for me, would ya, J? And don’t tell anyone.”

“Of course, Sergeant.”

James hummed and hung up. Stark had better not die over this. James hadn’t had a chance to properly get to know him and thank him for the new arm yet, and he was pretty sure they’d get along brilliantly.

* * *

Pepper smoothed her skirt, straightened her spine, and put on the tallest, pointiest pair of heels she could find.

“Putting on the battle armor?” Happy asked, closing the door of the car.

Pepper smirked. It wasn’t a very nice smirk, and she could tell Happy was very glad it wasn’t directed at him. “Preparing for the victory feast,” she replied, and he nodded.

She marched in the front door of the tower, shoes tapping firmly against the sidewalk. It turned into a more satisfying click as she entered, and she happily noted the man at the front desk pale slightly and avoid her eyes and they continued their staccato beat across the marble to the elevator. God, she loved being Pepper Potts.

Pressing the button for the appropriate floor, Pepper listened to the elevator music and put on her poker face. This wasn’t going to be pretty, but she would come out on top. As she always did.

The elevator doors slid open, and Pepper set off down a long hallway, entering the last door on the left. The board of directors was seated around the long table, though a couple were floating video screens, and they looked up at her entrance. She saw one or two of the smarter ones’ eyes widen and promptly dart away from her. 

“Good, everyone’s here. Let’s begin.”

She may have to tell these sharks that Tony was dying, but she would damn them all before she let them do anything about it that she didn’t like.

* * *

Bruce bent over his latest research, tiredly pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He was pretty sure he was the only one still in the Tower, unless Tony had passed out somewhere again. His favorite spots seemed to be the couch in the living room and his bed, but only if Clint was in it, too. Bruce had also found him on the lab couch a few times, but Tony made him promise not to tell the others he was sleeping that much.

At least he wasn’t hiding in the trunks of his cars anymore.

Yawning, Bruce finished entering the data of the last experiment and set it aside. He should probably get some sleep, considering Jarvis was flashing him a date and time that definitely looked like “tomorrow” compared to the last time he’d checked. Rubbing his eyes, he leaned back in his chair. He hadn’t made much progress on the cure for cancer, not that he’d expected to. Still, he had a hard time just stopping when he watched Tony’s symptoms from the treatment get worse. The nausea and fatigue were rough, but the way Tony’s muscles were starting to shake and the anemia made everything worse. Happy had started force-feeding Tony light, healthy foods, and Steve kept hovering. Bruce, Natasha, and Rhodey were betting on who would snap over the treatment first, Clint or Tony. Bruce’s money was on Clint. Tony was too tired to properly snap.

“I really must insist you get some sleep, Dr. Banner,” Jarvis said, as gently as any flesh-and-blood person would have.

“Yeah, okay,” he mumbled, and stumbled to his feet. He supposed he should get to his actual bed, but, well, the couch in the lab was really comfortable, and closer.

He was out as soon as he hit the cushions.

Bruce wasn’t sure what he dreamed about, though he knew he was dreaming. He kept getting flashes of needles and darkness. It wasn’t exactly a nightmare, but it wasn’t particularly pleasant, either. When he woke he took a deep breath, trying to settle the knot of anxiety in his stomach before he opened his eyes. He was warm, and on soft cushions, and covered with a…

Tony? 

Bruce blinked, rubbed his eyes with his free hand, and looked again. Yep, sometime in the course of the night, he’d acquired a blanket in the form of Tony. Jarvis gave him the time and date in the air again, and Bruce sighed. Eight am, so he’d gotten about five hours of solid sleep.

“When’d Tony come in, Jarvis?”

“About five o’clock, Dr. Banner,” Jarvis said, softly. “Clint was called out for a brief mission and Sir was having a hard time sleeping alone.”

Bruce nodded and ran his fingers through Tony’s hair a couple times, eyelids drooping. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to sleep much more, but he was content to laze about for a little while.

Bruce was all too aware that his friends (except Thor) would probably die before him, and he wanted to hold on for as long as he could.

* * *

Thor frowned at the small piece of paper he had stolen from his fair lady Jane’s printer. “This seems an inadequate offering,” he said.

“Hm, yeah,” Darcy agreed, eyeing the white page with distaste. “This deserves a trip to the craft store. Onward!”

Thor followed her out to the tiny car she drove and crammed himself into the passenger seat. He ignored her giggling at him as he slid the chair all the way back and ducked his head slightly.

“Let’s do this. Michael’s or Hobby Lobby?”

Thor blinked at her. “Who is this Michael? And what is a Hobby Lobby?”

“Okay, both it is!”

They went to the place which belonged to Michael first, and Thor was awed by the abundance of supplies. He purchased several types of paper much more suitable than the blank white pieces, and Darcy added to his pile paste, glitter, and stickers. She also grabbed several sets of markers in a variety of colors.

Next they went to Hobby Lobby. Darcy purchased a massive sheet of bright red paper and another in gold, along with gold foil sheets and set of archery stickers. She also picked up confetti, paperclips, hot glue, and beads. On the way out, she noticed a set of scissors with interesting edges and ran back to purchase those, as well.

The supplies barely fit into the trunk without squishing the large paper, but they made it back to Jane’s without incident. Jane herself had returned by the time they arrived, and watched with amusement and slowly climbing eyebrows as they unloaded their supplies.

“What’s all this for?” she asked.

“Lady Darcy has informed me of the tradition on Midgard of appealing to the fates for the restoration of wellbeing to a loved one by means of creating a ‘get well soon’ card,” Thor said. “However, we were lacking in supplies that are fit for the Man of Iron, and thus we ventured out to Michael’s and Hobby Lobby for better goods.”

Jane’s lips twitched, and Thor smiled; he sometimes talked so on purpose to make her giggle. He also enjoyed the faces Agent Coulson made when he used the “flowery” language in his reports, not to mention it was good practice for diplomacy to other realms. Particularly Alfheim.

“Can I help?” she asked.

Thor beamed at her. “Certainly! I can only imagine that the more people who appeal to the fates on Anthony’s behalf, the better!”

Jane’s lips twitched again as she selected a square foot sheet of cardstock in red and black patterns to begin work with. Darcy took the large piece of gold, and Thor the large piece of red, and they all began work on their cards. Thor decided he was quite fond of the gold glitter and was quite glad they had purchased a lot of it. Jane did excellent work with the gold foil, as she carefully cut it to recreate the outlines of the Iron Man armor on the interior of her card. The result was quite striking. 

Thor cheerfully put all of his effort into creating the most glorious red and gold get well card ever seen, signing his name in silver glitter and decorating the card with various beads, foil, and shapes cut from the other papers. He put a star for the Captain, and some large green triangles for the Doctor, and several of the arrow and spider stickers for Clint, Natasha, and young Peter. 

Lady Darcy was similarly enthusiastic in decorating her gold card, though she used more red glitter and stickers. 

Once they all finished, Thor stood back to look at their masterpieces with great satisfaction. Jane’s card was much smaller than his or Darcy’s, but the time and care put into the beautiful silhouette and the heartfelt message were excellent. His and Darcy’s cards were giant, majestic messes of reasons Tony should get better soon, and he was pleased to make such an excellent offering to the fates.

“We’ll need to let the glitter dry before we move them, so it doesn’t all fall off,” Jane said. “We’ll take them to Tony tomorrow after I finish work.”

“An excellent plan,” Thor agreed. 

Darcy grinned. “Bet we even get him to laugh.”

All of them were grinning at the thought.

“Now we need to clean up,” Jane said.

Darcy and Thor looked at the mess of glitter, paste, and paper strewn across the kitchen and living room and sighed. “Can we order out for dinner?” Darcy asked.

“I think we’d better,” Jane said wrily.

* * *

Rhodey was spending a lot more time stateside, recently. He hadn’t exactly planned it that way, but he couldn’t say he wasn’t grateful as he watched Tony work through the glass. Tony looked happy, with his fingers dug deep into the innards of some new technological masterpiece. Properly happy, not the sad-but-at-peace-with-dying happy he’d been putting on for everyone lately. 

Jarvis slid the door open when Rhodey forced his feet to move forward. Tony looked up at the swoosh and the lowered volume of his music, since Jarvis was conscientious enough to adjust the volume to a less shattering level for people who weren’t Tony. Or Thor, who quite possibly turned it up even louder.

“Hey, Tones,” Rhodey said.

“Rhodey!” Tony said. “Come here, you’ve got good timing, I need an extra hand -”

Rhodey easily supported the tiny pieces Tony needed help with as the engineer worked with the miniscule gears inside the machine. Rhodey mostly zoned out, nodding in the right places while Tony talked and listening to the music, though as Tony’s focus re-centered itself on the work in front of him he slowly stopped talking and more grunting and pointing out what he needed Rhodey to do. The music was an odd choice for Tony, who usually preferred to work to loud, angry music, with a rough beat. Tonight, though, he was giving into his less well-known enjoyment of classical. Suite Bergamasque for viola and piano, if he wasn’t mistaken. The second movement ended and the third started to play. [Claire de Lune](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u5-ZpeidN_w). It was oddly melancholic, with Tony quietly fiddling with his mechanics while the music wrapped around the workshop.

Tony’s hands stilled, resting on top of the machine. Rhodey waited patiently, watching Tony gather himself. “Remember, our senior year of college -”

“Oh God,” Rhodey said. “You just had to bring that up. Which time?”

“That girl you had a crush on from -”

“Modern architecture and design, yeah,” Rhodey said, catching on. “I was so gone on her.”

“So gone that you tried to learn her favorite piano piece -”

“The Claire de Lune. And it was utterly awful. And then, you little brat -”

“I played it perfectly,” Tony said, smugly. “Because little did you know that I’d been taking piano lessons since I was six. Not a prodigy or anything, but it was a challenge like mechanics never was. You got a dance out of it, at least.”

Rhodey hummed. “Wonder what ever happened to her anyway.”

“She designed my Tower,” Tony said, grinning.

“No damn way.”

“Yep. She finally told that old witch of a grandmother that though she loved violin, she didn’t want it for a career, switched majors, and became one of the most renowned architects around.”

“Good for her,” Rhodey said, remembering the tiny woman with black hair and the footsteps of a queen. He’d had the biggest crush for a long time, but she was definitely out of his league. “She and Pepper would be besties.”

Tony shuddered. “Don’t remind me. I think they still get tea now and again.”

Rhodey hummed, listening to the music.

“Jarvis, mute,” Tony muttered as the last notes drifted in the air.

Rhodey watched him as silence fell over the workshop. Tony looked tired. Then again, Tony always looked tired. Still, it seemed more pronounced. It wasn’t just shadows under his eyes or massive yawns, it was creases in his forehead and slumping shoulders. It was fingers that trembled just slightly too much and hair that seemed a bit unkempt. Not to mention thinner than usual. Tony noticed the slight tremble in his fingers as well, and drew them away from the little machine to ball them into fists. Rhodey let go of the parts he was holding as well and walked around the table to stand next to him. 

Tony leaned against him, like they were working in the engineering labs at MIT and slowly falling asleep on the stools. “I feel a bit like a house of cards,” Tony said, studying his fists.

Rhodey shrugged. “We built some pretty impressive ones to show off for those two girls in the theatre department.”

Tony’s lips twitched. “Is there anything we haven’t done?” he asked. 

“We never did get around to asking Gordon Ramsey for ketchup,” Rhodey said, startling a laugh out of Tony. 

“Don’t even like ketchup, just want to get yelled at,” Tony said. 

“Well, then, after we get this all figured out, you and I are going to England for a quality bitching.”

“Sounds good.” There was a long pause. “Listen, Rhodey…”

“You’ll win, Tones.”

“But if - don’t let Peter convince himself this is his fault, or that he’s cursed. Clint, too.”

Rhodey sighed. “You’ll win.”

Tony nodded. Rhodey would look out for them just like he’d looked after Tony for so many years. “Good.”

“FRIEND TONY!” they heard Thor bellow, through the soundproof glass. Tony winced, turning towards the door as it opened. Rhodey turned as well, and his jaw dropped.

“What _is_ that?” he asked, hearing Tony’s echo of the same question. 

“The lady Darcy,” Thor said, nodding to the young woman as she emerged from behind him looking all kinds of mischievous, “informed me of this ritual, which is the making of a ‘get well card’ -”

Tony’s lips started to twitch.

“- and so she, my fair lady Jane, and I sought supplies from the great Michael and the Lobby of Hobbies -”

Tony was full-on grinning now, and geez, Thor had to be doing this on purpose.

“- and we have crafted such cards in your honour!”

And with a flourish, Thor revealed the massive card that had been sort of hidden behind his back, as Darcy did the same. They looked they had been made by three year olds with an obsession for red and gold. Probably without enough supervision, considering the amount of glitter on the things. Rhodey could see little bits of it flaking off onto the floor, and he would bet money that the two had left a trail all the way from Jane’s apartment. Rhodey wondered how Tony was going to react to this; either really badly, or -

Tony burst into a full-on belly laugh. Thor’s brow furrowed. “Have I misunderstood this ritual sacrifice to the fates?” he asked, and Rhodey grinned at the flicker of delight in Thor’s eyes as that only set Tony laughing even harder.

“No,” Tony gasped, desperately trying to breathe, “No, this is exactly right.”

And looking at the true mirth in Tony’s expression, Rhodey decided that he agreed.

As though on cue, Jarvis started playing a rather sad funeral dirge as Rhodey said, “I mourn for the state of Jane’s living room. She’s going to be finding glitter for decades,” his own lips twitching.

That set Tony off all over again. Good thing, too; it was about time he had a decent laugh.

* * *

Pepper kicked her heels off with a sigh, leaning back into the luxurious seats of the limo. “I’m so glad you suggested this. I could definitely use a spa day.”

“No one else can tell,” Happy said from the front seat.

“Flatterer,” Tony said. “But I’m the one who called and got a manipedi set up in addition to a sugar scrub, mud pack, wax treatment, hot stone massage, and hair styling.”

“I think you’ll find that was me,” Pepper replied, raising an eyebrow.

Tony hesitated. “Oh. Right. Well… I thought of it?”

“True, I suppose. Though I’m not convinced it’s for any reason other than wanting to visit Aden.”

“The man does good work!” Tony said. “And he doesn’t let cameras inside his salon. Everyone with the money knows Aden’s is the place to go. His name was mentioned on the red carpet at least a dozen times last season, and no one outside the elite has a clue. The place is practically a bunker anyway!”

“I notice, however, that we’re going in the wrong direction for Aden’s.” Pepper said, drily.

“...I need to pick up some hats first. I want a fedora. Indiana Jones is a badass, and clearly I deserve the same ranking.”

Pepper felt her face soften just slightly. So Tony had decided it was time. She’d suspected he’d get his hair all shaved sooner, honestly, control the loss before it had a chance to drag on and make him miserable.

“So, we’re swinging by Patil & Patel’s,” Happy said. “Because they have everything. Literally everything. Fedoras. Fezzes. Turbans. Knit beanies shaped like koalas.”

“...Why do you know that?” Tony asked.

“I make a note of interesting places that you are inevitably going to want to visit,” Happy replied, grinning in the rearview mirror. “How else do you think I manage to fulfill all your ridiculous requests?”

“Hey, I resemble that remark!”

Happy pulled into a parking garage and quickly found a good spot to park the limo. Turning around, he passed back a couple baseball caps and sunglasses. “Here, annoyingly famous people,” he said, “put on your disguises so we can at least get there without getting mobbed.”

They both gave him sheepish looks as they pulled on the caps. Pepper pulled a pack of emergency flats out of a pocket under her seat; though she did love her heels, she preferred not to wear them for activities as physically demanding as shopping with Tony or running from homicidal aliens/mad scientists/evil dictators. She could do it, but she really didn’t like to. “At least in New York most people are much too cool to gawp at celebrities on the street. That or flat broke and running late for work.”

“Way better than California, where people specifically travel for the purpose of gawping at celebrities,” Tony agreed.

Pepper tossed her hair just to make him giggle and climbed out of the car. Her boys followed obediently, though Happy took the lead once they hit the elevator. The hat shop was two buildings up the block, on the ground floor. The quiet area let them relax a little; it was unlikely trouble could find even Tony in such an out of the way place, with no bar in sight. 

The hat shop was everything Happy promised and more. There were rainbow hats, hats made from sheet music, a hat crafted to look like ketchup and mustard, a hat that was half a chicken, fancy hats, touristy hats, most notable a hat version of The Thinker, a hat with a little plastic horse on top… and it only got weirder from there. Pepper was pretty sure she could see a Cthulu hat buried under some beanies. She also saw a variety of hats she was fairly sure were designer, and a number of knitted designs that were definitely handmade.

“I am impressed,” Tony said. “I think you’ve outdone yourself, Happy, and after the food-as-underwear emporium, I really didn’t think that was possible.”

“The what?” Pepper asked. 

“Ah… nothing. Anyway, hats! Wow, is that a Cthulu hat?”

Pepper raised an eyebrow but allowed the subject change. The three started digging through hats. Pepper’s attention was drawn when Happy started snickering. He revealed a knit cap that looked like a brain. In turn, she showed off a Captain America Mad Hatter hat. 

And then Tony revealed his find. Pepper stared. “Is that -”

Tony nodded solemnly. Someone, somewhere, had designed a gigantic monstrosity of a steampunk hat that looked like a fully functional robot, complete with glowing eyes. As Pepper watched, the giant robot hat’s head actually moved like it was looking at her.

“Whoever designed that needs to be flagged on SHIELD servers everywhere. Vetoed,” Happy said.

“But -”

“No, Tony,” Pepper said. 

He pouted, but put the hat back. Pepper made a mental note to check their purchases before they left to ensure he didn’t try and sneak it in anyway.

They left the shop with just over two dozen hats, including two Spider-Man themed, seven other Avengers-themed (including the Cap Hatter, as they called it), and a variety of animal shaped beanies. Pepper was also pretty sure Happy had managed to slip the brain hat in, but she decided to let it slide. She’d also slipped in a hideous orange beanie that was an exact match to the one Jayne wore in _Firefly_ , though she was careful not to let Tony see. She was going to stick it on him when he needed a good laugh.

They managed to make it back to the limo, and only got stopped for a signature once. Happy checked it for explosives (it wouldn’t be the first time the car got rigged), and they headed out to Aden’s.

Aden’s took up the top three floors of a rather magnificent skyscraper. They had a helipad on the roof, as many of their rather wealthy clients liked to arrive that way. Many probably thought the place was some kind of government facility thanks to that and the incredible security. The Salon and attached rehab and physical therapy clinic catered to the very, very wealthy and their friends. 

And Aden K. Fairfield ruled it all with a perfectly manicured iron fist. Like any noble dictator, he knew of everyone and everything that passed in and out of his kingdom. His very loyal support staff and security had been known to disappear people who didn’t respect the hair shears and nail buff. Anyone who entered the premises was also required to sign an NDA; no details about any client of Aden’s could be revealed in any way, shape, or form by the client or their attendees, or they would face severe consequences.

No one was sure what had happened to the reporter who managed to slip in during the fiasco of 2003, and Tony wasn’t asking. Nor was he going to ask what the “K” stood for. He was crazy, not suicidal.

“Tony! Mon cheri, ca fait trop longtemps! Comment vous-allez vous? Ah, et Madame Potts, aussi! C’est merveilleux!” 

“Bonjour, Aden! Beau, comme usuel. Quel est vos secret?” 

Aden laughed, his grey eyes dancing. “It is good to see you both! Though, Tony, Your pronunciation is slipping.”

“I know, I just can’t quite master it.”

Aden ushered them through security and into a private room; the salon had several such private areas, which were capable of catering to anywhere from one individual to a dozen. “Well, now, what can I do for you three?”

Happy sighed as Pepper and Tony smirked at him. The driver tried to get out of letting Aden do anything to his style every time they came, and never quite managed it. 

“Well,” Tony said. “The hair. It’s got to go.”

“...Pardon?”

“Well. It’s already going. Might as well get it over with. The chemo isn’t being kind.”

Aden’s jaw dropped. “Non! C’est terrible! Je cette ne crois pas!”

“It’s true, sorry.”

“But your hair!” Aden practically wailed. Pepper couldn’t help but smile, and she saw Happy and Tony reflecting the expression. Of course that was what Aden was worried about. Oh, there was no doubt he would be concerned for Tony, but like the rest of them, Aden would have no doubt Tony would beat the cancer, so he moved onto the next most important thing (in Aden’s view, at least).

As he moaned and whimpered on Tony’s hair’s behalf, Aden and his primary aide quickly and efficiently set up the room for the ordered salon treatments and haircuts. “Well,” he eventually sighed. “It can’t be helped. We will make the best of it! I have several of the season’s top hat designers on speed dial, and we can certainly make the skin lily soft. We will start with the nails, and then the hair, they will have more time to dry that way, before you go ruining them with grease -”

Tony grumbled at that, but didn’t truly protest. It was never a good idea to piss off the man in charge of how you would look after the next few hours. Plus, Tony was pretty sure some of the security were on loan from Kingpin, who it was rumored once shot one of his best men through the knee after an indirect insult was made about the stylist. 

“And Tony, I heard your son found a lady! Why have you not brought them to me?”

“I’ll tell them to come visit, Aden. I’m sure the lovely Gwen would enjoy a spa day, and I wouldn’t dare let anyone else get them ready for Homecoming or Prom. Otherwise you might actually kill me.”

“Yes, yes! Oh - Miss Potts, what have you done! We must upgrade conditioner for you, you’ve managed to get so many split ends. You must take better care of your hair, it is such a lovely color!”

Aden, Pepper thought wrily as she was maneuvered into a very comfortable chair, never changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Hawkwind1980, as usual! Hope you all enjoyed this series of scenes covering approximately the first three or four appointments. Plot will pick back up again more thoroughly next chapter.
> 
> Translations:   
> Tony! My dear, it has been too long! How are you! Oh, and Ms. Potts, too! Marvelous!  
> (Hello, Aden! Handsome, as usual. What is your secret?  
> No! That's terrible! I don't believe it!


	5. Arrangements

“Tony - what’s with the hat? And your face?”

Tony smiled at Clint. “I decided I’d rather get it over with than wait for the inevitable. What, don’t like me clean-shaven?”

Clint rolled his eyes and sidled up to him. “I’d like you turquoise with pink spots, as long as you never wore orange.”

Tony laughed and gave him a quick kiss. “That’s good, because I’m pretty sure there was something about shape-shifting and appearance-altering curses in our vows.”

“Right next to the bit about unplanned magical gender-bending,” Clint agreed.

“Tony, you’re back!” Steve pulled up short and stared. 

“That bad, huh?” Tony asked weakly.

“No, no, it looks great! Just unexpected,” Steve rushed to reassure. 

His rather sad attempt was interrupted by Thor’s booming laughter. Tony turned to look at the door, only to find Thor bent half over on himself in the doorway and laughing his ass off. “You look like a young, untested child with your face so shaven, friend Stark!” Thor gasped.

“So I have a bit of a babyface,” Tony grumbled. The smile on his face belied his attitude.

Thor kept right on laughing.

“Hm.” Natasha peered over Thor’s bent form. “Just let me find a sharpie really quick.”

Tony started laughing at that one, Clint joining in. Steve looked completely scandalized, but just as he opened his mouth to say something, Bruce got off the elevator behind them.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know we had company. Who’re you?” Bruce asked. The dark shadows under his eyes hinted that exhaustion was at least part of the reason for his sudden lack of ability to identify his team, but the slight twitch at the corner of his lips hinted that he might be trolling them. It was always hard to tell with Bruce.

Either way, it set off another round of laughter, and Steve’s comment was lost in the ensuing chaos.

* * *

Tony stared at the blank white ceiling, laying on the uncomfortable medical bed and trying to catch his breath and steady himself. Natasha’s fingers rubbed over his knuckles comfortingly, though neither of them would ever let that fact escape this little recovery room. “I hate this,” Tony breathed. 

“It sucks balls,” Natasha agreed, making Tony crack a smile. They sat a little longer, until Tony’s shaking muscles subsided to a slight tremor. 

“Time to go,” Tony said. He sat up straighter, stretching a little. He hesitated before standing. “Natasha,” he said softly. “If this is it -”

“It isn’t,” Natasha said.

“But if -”

“ _No_. You don’t think like that, you hear me? You will beat this. Or I will bring you back to life and kill you myself.”

Tony sighed. “Well, then. That’s what I call motivation.” 

Natasha nodded and helped him to his feet. Making their way down the hallway, they entered the lobby quietly. Natasha deposited Tony in a chair next to Clint; the archer seemed to have fallen asleep. She then left to fill out any necessary paperwork at the front desk. Tony smiled gratefully at her back. He hated paperwork, and he hated it even more when it involved doctors and medical terminology. He was pretty sure she was also sending copies of everything to Bruce for review, since Bruce had decided early on that it was best if he didn’t attend these visits.

Tony closed his eyes and leaned into Clint’s side. Clint’s arm came up and around his shoulders, his thumb stroking soothingly across Tony’s upper arm. Tony wrapped his arms around Clint’s waist in return. “Managed to get Peter to go to school again, then?”

“Yeah,” Clint replied. “He might bring Gwen around again tonight.”

“He’s done that more, lately,” Tony murmured. “Did we get their appointment with Aden set up for the end of the month, before prom?”

“Yeah, we did that yesterday.”

“Oh. I don’t remember.”

“I imagine you’ve got other things on your mind.”

Tony yawned.

“Take a nap, genius. It looks like Natasha may be a few minutes.”

* * *

Clint kept gently stroking his thumb over Tony’s shoulder as the genius drifted off to sleep. He stared down at his husband, and lifted his other hand to run it through his hair.

What were they supposed to do? Pepper had a press conference planned for later in the week, but she didn’t want anyone actually attending. There would be another press conference later, for that. Steve kept barging in on him and Tony - asking if they were all right, bringing them food, picking Peter up from school, and hovering like some kind of demented, obsessed dog. If Tony so much as mentioned he needed to clip his fingernails soon, there Steve was with a pair of clippers about five seconds later. Clint could see it starting to wear on Tony, but the genius seemed to mostly be taking in stride.

Clint on the other hand… What was he even doing? Cuddling occasionally and shooting arrows at targets when his anger at the situation got too much, that’s what. He was just so useless. He couldn’t double-check the medical records like Bruce, or help manage Stark Industries and the press like Pepper, and if he tried to help like Steve Tony would probably be pissed. Peter was leaning on Gwen for comfort, and Happy and Jarvis had a healthy meal plan totally covered. And then there was Clint, providing cuddles and massages. And that was it.

“Clint? Could you call Coulson and tell him I need to talk to him?”

“Sure, Tones. I’ll see if he can drop by the tower.”

“Thanks.”

Clint nodded, resting his chin on top of the frankly ridiculous frog beanie Tony was wearing. “Anything.”

“How ‘bout a get well kiss or ten, then?”

Clint obliged. He may be basically useless, but he could give kisses. That was something.

* * *

Tony didn’t protest when Clint carried him in from the car, and Clint bit his lip. That wasn’t a good sign. Tony was just so exhausted all the time that Clint had taken to glaring at anyone who so much as whispered in his presence while Tony was sleeping. Except Peter, who had been quieter than a spider lately, except when he was joking with Tony or helping him in the shop. Speaking of Peter, Clint thought, after he tucked Tony in, he really should check in with their son. Clint was a little worried by how much Peter was withdrawing from everyone. Mind made up, Clint carefully carried Tony into the elevator.

As soon as the elevator doors opened onto their floor, Steve swooped in and scooped Tony out of Clint’s arms. Clint swallowed sudden anger and desperation, clenching his fists next to his sides, and followed Steve to the bedroom, where the super-soldier was carefully tucking Tony into bed. Clint moved to climb in next to him, but Steve grabbed his wrist and pulled him away. Clint wondered what Steve needed.

“We should let him rest,” Steve said, lowly, once they reached the kitchen. 

Clint stared at him, pissed. Really, did he think Clint was going to do anything other than lay there with his husband to comfort him? It felt like it had been forever since they last had a moment alone!

Clint took a deep breath, trying to settle his nerves. He didn’t say anything - he wasn’t sure what would come out if he opened his mouth right now - but he did turn and leave. Peter. He was going to talk to Peter first. Stepping into the elevator, Clint caught a look of surprise and a bit of judgment on Steve’s face before the doors closed. “Where’s Peter?” Clint asked.

“On the common floor, Agent Barton,” Jarvis replied, as the elevator began to move.

Clint nodded and breathed. This is stressful for everyone, Clint reminded himself. I’m not the only one this is hurting, and Steve just tends to show worry through aggressive mother-henning. It’s fine. 

The elevator dinged open, and Clint stepped out, quickly spotting Peter. He was sitting morosely at the counter, picking at leftover pizza.

“Hey, kiddo,” Clint said.

Peter’s head came up immediately. “Da! Is Dad okay?”

“He’s fine, just sleeping. How are you holding up?” Clint asked.

“Fine,” Peter replied.

Clint eyed the dark shadows under Peter’s eyes, noted that he seemed skinnier, and spotted some reddened skin that he thought probably had to do with tears. Sighing, Clint crossed the room. Reaching out, he wrapped Peter in the biggest hug he could. “You know,” Clint said, “It’s perfectly okay if you’re not.”

Peter’s arms came up to wrap around Clint, and he buried his head in Clint’s shoulder. Clint ignored the rapidly growing wet spot there. They remained there for a long time.

 

“I just - I was at the floral place, dad’s favorite one, trying to decide on a corsage for prom, and it just seemed so stupid. What does prom even matter? It’s just a stupid dance, I shouldn’t be worrying about it when - and. I don’t know.”

Clint rested his chin on Peter’s head. “Well,” he said, “Considering how excited Tony is to get to take pictures with you and Gwen all dressed up for prom, I’d say it’s worth worrying about. Besides. We would never want you to be unhappy, or refuse to acknowledge the good, just because we’re in a bad spot.”

“I know,” Peter said, a bit more calmly. 

“What kind of corsage did you pick out? Tony will never forgive you if you went as cliche as roses.”

“Peruvian lilies,” Peter replied.

“Classy,” Clint approved. “What color?”

“White, with yellow and pink accents. Gwen’s wearing a navy gown, apparently, and she said to get something that would add some brighter color.”

Clint hummed in approval. “Plus, they smell nice,” he said. “Lilies. You know, once, when I was in the hospital with a sprained wrist, your dad overfilled the hospital room with lilies. The nurses eventually had to take a bunch down to the children’s ward to share because they couldn’t move around the room like they needed to.”

Peter laughed. “Yeah, that sounds like dad.”

“He’ll pull through. We’ve faced worse odds before.”

Peter nodded and pulled back, looking up at Clint. “Yeah. We have.”

“I’m going to just head back up to check on him, then. Eat up!” Clint nodded at the half-eaten pizza. Peter saluted, and Clint headed back to the elevator.

“Jarvis, hold the elevator,” he murmured. The elevator stopped between floors, and Clint leaned his forehead against the smooth metal wall. It was cool against his forehead. Clint wasn’t sure how long he stood there, breathing and letting tears drop quietly to the floor, but he did know that when he eventually made his way back to Tony, Steve was still hovering over Tony and looking at Clint like he had done something wrong.

Clint wondered if Tony was as exhausted by Steve’s efforts as Clint was.

* * *

As Pepper faced a horde of eager paparazzi, Phil Coulson ducked into Stark Tower largely unnoticed. He was dressed like any businessman and carried only a neat office bag that held paperwork and a laptop. Nobody gave him a second glance.

Phil made his way to the elevator and climbed in. “Jarvis, if you would?” he asked. The elevator started to rise. “Any idea why Stark wants to see me?”

“I am uncertain, Agent. He has not disclosed his intentions to me.”

“Odd.” The elevator doors slid open on Clint and Tony’s private floor. Phil entered easily, hearing voices murmuring in the bedroom. When he made his way there, he was surprised to find Steve anxiously fluttering around Tony, asking if he was _sure_ he didn’t need anything. Tony was looking very annoyed and tired, and Clint was blank-faced. Phil knew that face, that was Clint’s _I’m going to shoot this person dead_ face.

“Captain Rogers,” Phil said. “If you wouldn’t mind giving us a moment?”

The relief that flashed across both Tony and Clint’s faces as Steve reluctantly nodded was very noticeable. Phil made a mental note to prepare the paperwork for the attempted murder of one Avenger by another (created when Clint ate the last of Natasha’s ice cream that one time right after a battle with squid creatures).

“Hello,” Phil said, closing the door behind him as he came into the room. He used his best ‘this had better be important’ voice.

“Hey, Agent,” Tony said cheerily. Clint settled down on the edge of the bed as Tony sat up, the archer’s frame slowly relaxing and the death stare slipping off of his face.

“Stark. What is this about?”

“Clint? Would you make French toast this morning?” Tony asked.

Clint looked at him, surprised. “I’m pretty sure that’s not on the Jarvis-and-Happy-approved list of food.”

“Pleeeease? I feel like I haven’t had sugar in weeks.”

“Yeah, alright. I’ll be back soon, then.”

Tony beamed up at Clint as Clint stood and left the room, closing the door softly behind him. The smile dropped off of Tony’s face. “Privacy, Jarvis.”

“Yes, Mister Stark,” Jarvis replied, and went silent.

Phil gave Tony a look. “If this is all some ploy to attempt to murder me, as you have informed me repeatedly is on your bucket list, then I’m afraid it’s not going to work.”

“I would be much more subtle if I was trying that,” Tony snorted. They were quiet for a few moments, Phil waiting for Tony to break and tell him what was going on. The faint sound of a clock ticking seeped into the background. “That’s so much louder now,” Tony murmured. “The seconds weigh so much more.”

Phil waited.

Tony sighed. “I need to make sure,” he said. “That’s - that’s all this is, okay, backup plans. I’m a futurist, planning for every eventuality is what I do.”

“Logical.”

Tony snorted. “Phil… In the event of my death, what happens to them? Peter? Clint? Pepper? The team?”

“You will _not_ die.”

“You can’t know that! That’s what everyone keeps saying, but we can’t know that! And if - if this is a worst-case scenario - I need to make sure.” Tony practically choked on the words coming out of his mouth, struggling with the admission of fear - because it was fear that Phil heard in his voice. Not for himself, but for the others. “I need to make sure.”

Phil gave him a long, long look. “Well then,” he said. “You’d best be prepared for a lot of paperwork.”

Tony groaned. Phil’s lips twitched. He may understand Tony’s need to prepare for every eventuality and to share this fear, but that didn’t mean he was going to let the billionaire off easy for it. They started working through some initial details, Tony telling Phil some of what he wanted to do and Phil noting which paperwork he would have to get together.

“And Phil?” Tony said, when he got up to leave.

“Yes?”

“Please, for the love of God, send Rogers out on a mission.”

“Noted.”

* * *

Pepper Potts, in her sphere (and several others), wielded god-like power. She also made judicious use of blackmail, sharp stilettos, and slightly insane smiles. And when, with her ironfisted grasp on the business world, Pepper Potts called a press conference?

One did not miss the event.

One was not late to the event.

In fact, one camped out the night before to try and get a good spot for the event.

This led to dozens of disheveled journalists, anxious camera men pulling garbage sacks off of carefully protected camera gear, and more than a few wrinkled bespoke suits. Dozens of minions moving in and out with coffee cups. A few of the smarter journalists had the minions bringing them fresh clothes and holding their places while they ran off for a quick change. The whole operation was executed with a level of smooth, perfected movements and words. No one wanted a repeat of ‘93.

No one.

Silence fell the moment Pepper’s heels could be heard tapping in the office attached to the conference room, where she tended to make sure everything was ready and waited to let security do their job. By the time she emerged, softly closing the door behind her and moving to the front of the room, a butterfly’s wings beating could have been heard in the room. Even the sounds of breathing and movement were virtually silent.

“Ladies, gentlemen,” Pepper greeted, a smirk curving her lips. They shifted, mice and lemmings before a snake who had yet to reveal its fangs. Pepper waited for them to settle. “Please hold all your questions until the end,” she said, with the air of someone who had no doubt they would be obeyed. “Today I am here to deliver some news.”

Everyone in the hall leaned in.

“Recently, many rumors have surfaced regarding the whereabouts of Tony Stark,” she drawled, sharp eyes noting which people in the hall leaned in, which wore expressions of disgust, which looked just a titch too eager. “These rumors, which have persisted, are all incorrect.”

The tension in the room ratched up a notch.

“Mister Stark will continue to do his work as head of R&D and has several plans in the works which I am not currently at liberty to discuss, to offset any future absence. It is anticipated he may be in and out for some time, as he has recently been diagnosed with leukemia.”

The room exploded. Pepper let her teeth show.

* * *

Peter fidgeted a bit where he waited in the living room. Gwen had been whisked away several hours ago by Aden, and Clint and Natasha had ensured the two hadn’t run into each other since. 

“Stop fidgeting,” Clint said. “Or Natasha will kill me. STOP!”

Peter froze with his hand halfway to his head.

“If you mess up that hair before pictures, Natasha _and_ Aden will kill me. Calm down, kid.”

Peter nodded, trying not to move his head too much, and stood carefully.

“Relax, Clint! It’s Prom, not the end of the world.”

Peter turned around and grinned at Tony. “I think the end of the world would be a lot simpler.”

“Probably,” Tony agreed, sinking into the space next to Clint on the couch as Steve meandered over to the kitchen in an attempt to make his hovering less obvious. Steve was being sent out on a mission in the morning, despite his protests, and Peter could tell his dads were very relieved. He was too, to be honest. It was impossible to get any time with them with Steve hovering, and he could tell it was wearing Tony out to try and keep Clint from killing the soldier. “Ah, here she comes now… Whoa.”

Peter turned back around, and Gwen walked in. Peter’s jaw dropped. In her navy gown, hair done up prettily, and with small sparkly jewels at her throat and in her hair, she was stunning.

“Daaaaamn,” Clint drawled. “How’d you get a date with a girl like that - oof!”

Peter didn’t have to look to know that Tony had elbowed Clint in the side, which was good because Gwen looked even better when she laughed.

“Picture time!” Tony said cheerfully. Peter could hear a carefully hidden weariness in his tone, and felt guilty for a long moment. Tony should be resting, not freaking out about Prom pictures.

Natasha appeared rather suddenly with a camera. “I know Jarvis can get a lot of group shots, but I thought we may as well be traditional,” she said.

“I appreciate that,” Gwen replied. “No offense, Jarvis.”

“None taken, Miss Stacy,” Jarvis replied.

“I want one with my boys!” Tony said, practically bouncing over to Peter. Peter laughed and let his dads lean in on either side of him. If Tony was leaning a little harder than usual, well. Peter was going to pretend he didn’t notice, because tonight - tonight was going to be awesome. He refused to let it be anything else. Besides, it was hard to be serious with Tony wearing a knitted penguin hat Aden insisted was for the sake of matching his tux.

* * *

James stretched as he quietly made his way down the hall, guided by the lights along the base of the wall. It was early - really, really early - and he fully intended to sleep for several hours before he emerged to socialize and figure out how to rein Steve in a bit.

“Welcome home, Mister Barnes,” Jarvis said softly as James entered his room.

“I’m home,” James mumbled back, and tumbled into bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is unforgivably late. I was dealing with some mental health things and my computer broke and life and I'm graduating so extra life... kind of... more like extra death... Anyway. A zillion thanks to Hawkwind1980 for beta reading again, as usual. :)
> 
> ~Era


End file.
